SPAIN 


BY 


EDMONDO    DE    AMICIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "studies  OF   PARIS,"   "HOLLAND,"    CONSTAWTINOrLE,"* 

"morocco,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED      FROM      THE      ITALIAN      PY 

WILHELMINA    W.     CADY 

TRANSLATOR    or   'STUDIES   OF   PARIS'' 


NEW    YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

27  &  29  WEST   23D   STREET 


^  05 


Copyright  by 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

iS8i 


Press  o/ 

C.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York 


Dp  41 


CONTENTS. 

CHAP.                                                A-''''  ^^°^ 

I  BARCELONA              .           ,             ,            .            .            ^           t  I 

II  SARAGOSSA          .,....♦  3° 

III  BURGOS           .....••!  65 

IV  V'ALLADOLID 93 

V  MADRID     ^.             .*...*.  110 

VI  ARANJUE^'' <             .  226 

VII  TOLEDO            .            .            ,            .            .            •             .            .  231 

VIII  CORDOVA              ...•..«  261 

IX  SEVILLE**^            .......  294 

X  CADIZ          .         j^        ......  334 

XI  MALAGA  p^           .            , 348 

XII  GRANADA 355 

XIII  VALENCIA.v'.            .            .            ,            ,            ,            ,            .  421 

APPENDIX ,            .  437 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PORT  OF  BARC£LONA .  .  Frontispiece 

BRIDGE    AT    SARAGOSSA       .                  .                   .                   .                  •  5^ 

BRIDGE,     GATEWAY,    AND    CATHEDRAL    OF    BURGOS  76 

THE    ROYAL    PALACE,    MADRID         ....  ^4^ 

ARANJUEZ            .                   .                   .                   .                   •                   •  228 

TOLEDO                           ....«•  232 
PRISON    OF    THE    INQUISITION,    CORDOVA 
GOLDEN    TOWER,    SEVILLE 
THE    GIRALDA,    SEVILLE                .... 


282 
298 
308 


PORT,    QUAY,    AND    CATHEDRAL,    MALAGA  .  .         35° 

VIEW    OF    GRANADA       .....  3°° 


SPAIN 


CHAPTER   I. 


BARCELONA. 


IT  was  a  rainy  morning  in  February,  an  hour  be- 
fore sunrise,  when  my  mother  accompanied  me 
as  far  as  the  staircase,  repeating  hurriedly  all  the 
counsels  she  had  been  giving  me  for  a  month  ;  then 
throwing  her  arms  around  my  neck,  she  burst  into 
tears  and  disappeared.  I  stood  for  a  moment  look- 
ing at  the  door  through  which  she  had  passed,  al- 
most ready  to  exclaim  :  "  Open  the  door  !  I  am 
not  going  away !  I  will  stay  with  you !  "  Then  I 
rushed  down  the  stairs  as  if  I  were  a  burglar  who 
was  being  pursued.  When  I  reached  the  street,  it 
seemed  as  if  between  my  home  and  me  were  al- 
ready stretched  the  waves  of  the  sea  and  the  heights 
of  the  Pyrenees.  Yet  although  I  had  been  fever- 
ishly looking  forward  to  that  day  for  some  time,  I 
was  not  at  all  happy.  At  the  corner  of  a  street,  on 
his  way  to  the  hospital,  I  met  a  medical  friend  of 
mine  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  more  than  a  month, 
and  who  asked  : 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Spain,"  I  replied.     But  he  could  hardly  be- 


SPAIN. 


lieve  my  statement,  so  little  did  my  gloomy  frown- 
ing face  seem  to  announce  a  pleasure  trip.  All 
along  the  road  from  Turin  to  Genoa,  I  thought  only 
of  my  mother,  my  empty  room,  my  little  library,  and 
of  the  dear  habits  of  my  home  life,  to  all  of  which 
I  was  saying  farewell  for  many  months. 

But  on  arriving  at  Genoa,  the  sight  of  the  sea,  the 
gardens  of  the  Acqua  Sola  and  the  company  of  Anton 
Giulio  Barili  restored  my  usual  calmness  and  gaiety. 
I  remember  that  just  as  I  was  getting  into  the  boat 
which  was  to  take  me  to  the  steamer,  a  porter  from 
the  hotel  handed  me  a  letter  containing  only  these 
words : 

"  Sad  news  from  Spain.  The  situation  of  an  Ital- 
ian at  Madrid,  at  the  time  of  a  struorde  against  the 
king,  would  be  dangerous.  Do  you  persist  in  go- 
ing ?     Think  well  of  it !  " 

I  sprang  into  the  boat  and  away  we  went.  Just 
before  the  departure  of  the  steamer,  two  officers 
came  to  say  good-bye.  I  seem  to  see  them  yet  as 
they  stood  up  in  the  boat,  when  the  ship  had  begun 
to  move. 

"  Bring  me  a  rr.vord  from  Toledo  !  "  they  cried. 

"  Bring  me  a  bottle  of  Xeres !  " 

"  Bring  me  a  guitar!  an  Andalusian  h^t !  a  dag- 
ger! " 

Shortly  after  this  I  could  only  see  their  Vfhite 
handkerchiefs  and  hear  their  last  shouts  ;  I  tried  to 
reply,  but  my  voice  choked  ;  I  began  to  laugh  and 
passed  my  hand  across  my  eyes.  In  a  short  time  I 
retired  to  my  den,  fell  into  a  delicious  sleep,  aiid 
dreamed  of  my  mother's  counsels,  my  pocket-book, 
France  and  Andalusia.  At  daybreak  I  sprang  up 
and  went  on  deck.  \Vc  were  at  a  short  distanc(ji 
from  the   shore— it  was  the   French  coast,  the  firsfc^ 


BARCELONA.  3 

strip  of  foreign  land  I  had  seen  ;  it  is  curious,  I 
could  not  gaze  at  it  enough  ;  a  thousand  vague 
thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  and  I  said  : 

"  Is  it  France,  really  France,  and  am  I  actually 
here  ?  " 

At  noon  we  began  to  see  Marseilles.  The  first 
sight  of  a  large  maritime  city  produces  a  sort  of  be- 
wilderment which  destroys  the  pleasure  of  surprise. 
I  see,  as  if  through  a  mist,  an  immense  forest  of  ships  ; 
a  boatman  who  stretches  out  his  hand  to  me,  ad- 
dressing me  in  some  incomprehensible  jargon  ;  a 
custom-house  guard  who  makes  me  pay,  in  virtue  of 
I  know  not  what  law,  deux  sous  pour  les  Prussiens  ; 
then  a  dark  hotel  room  ;  then  long,  long  streets, 
immense  squares,  a  coming  and  going  of  people 
and  carriages,  troops  of  Zouaves,  unknown  mili- 
tary uniforms,  thousands  of  lights  and  voices,  and 
at  last  a  weariness  and  profound  melancholy  which 
ends  in  a  painful  dream.  The  following  morning  at 
daybreak  I  was  in  a  carriage  of  the  railway  which 
runs  from  Marseilles  to  Perpignan,  with  ten  officers 
of  the  Zouaves,  who  had  arrived  the  day  before  from 
Africa  ;  some  with  crutches,  some  with  canes,  and 
others  with  their  arms  in  slings,  but  all  as  gay  and 
noisy  as  so  many  school-boys.  The  journey  was  a 
long  one,  so  it  was  necessary  to  try  and  start  a  conver- 
sation ;  yet  taking  into  consideration  all  that  I  had 
heard  of  the  ill  feeling  existing  between  the  French 
and  ourselves,  I  dared  not  open  my  mouth.  What 
nonsense  it  was  !  One  of  the  gentlemen  addressed 
me  and  we  besran  talking-. 

"  Are  you  Italian  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  result  of  my  answer  was  delightful.  All,  with 
one  exception,  had  fought  in  Italy,  and  one  had  been 


SPAIN. 


wounded  at  Magenta.  They  began  recounting 
anecdotes  of  Genoa,  Turin,  Milan,  asking  me  about  a 
thousand  things,  and  describing  the  Hfe  they  lead  in 
Africa.  One  began  on  the  pope.  "  Aha !  "  I  said 
to  myself,  but  he  went  further  than  I,  for  he  said 
that  we  ought  to  have  tranclie  le  nceud  dc  la  ques- 
tion, and  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter  without 
giving  any  thought  to  the  peasantry.  Meanwhile, 
as  we  approached  the  Pyrenees,  I  amused  myself  by 
observing  the  progressive  change  in  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  travellers  who  entered  the  carriaee,  and 
in  noting  how  the  French  language  died,  if  I  may  so 
express  myself,  into  the  Spanish  tongue,  to  feel  the 
approach  of  Spain  ;  until  reaching  Perpignan  and 
rushing  into  a  diligence,  I  heard  the  first  bue^tos  dias 
and  buen  vidje,  so  distinct  and  sonorous  that  they 
gave  me  infinite  pleasure.  At  Perpignan,  however, 
Spanish  is  not  spoken,  but  the  people  use  a  wretched 
dialect,  a  mixture  of  French,  Marseillese  and  Cata- 
lan, which  is  distressing  to  the  ear.  The  diligence 
landed  me  at  a  hotel  among  a  crowd  of  officers, 
ladies.  Englishmen  and  trunks.  A  waiter  forced  me 
to  sit  down  at  a  table,  where  I  ate  something. 
I  was  half  strangled,  hurried  into  another  diligence, 
and  away  we  went. 

Alas !  I  had  dreamed  for  so  long  a  time  of  the 
crossing  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  I  was  obliged  to  make 
the  passage  by  night.  Before  w^e  had  reached  the 
foot  of  the  first  mountains  it  was  perfectly  dark. 

Through  long,  long  hours,  between  sleeping  and 
waking,  I  saw  nothing  but  a  little  of  the  road  lighted 
by  the  lanterns  of  the  diligence,  the  dark  profile  of 
some  mountain,  a  projecting  rock  which  I  could  have 
touched  by  stretching  my  hand  out  of  the  window  ; 
and  I  heard  nothing  save  the  measured  tread  of  the 


BARCELONA.  5 

horses,  and  the  whistling  of  a  dreadful  wind,  which 
never  ceased  blowing  for  a  moment. 

Beside  me  sat  a  young  American,  the  most  origi- 
nal creature  in  the  world,  who  slept  for  I  know  not 
how  many  hours  with  his  head  resting  on  my 
shoulder,  who  waked  from  time  to  time  to  exclaim  : 
"■Ah  quelle  miit !  Qtielle  horrible  nitit  /  "  without 
becoming  aware  of  the  fact  that  with  his  head  he 
gave  me  quite  another  reason  for  making  the  same 
lament.  At  the  station  we  both  got  out  and  entered 
a  small  tavern  for  a  little  glass  of  liquor.  He — the 
American — asked  me  if  I  were  travelling  on  busi- 
ness. 

''  No,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  travelling  for  pleas- 
ure ;  and  you,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  ask?  " 

"  I,"  he  replied  with  the  utmost  gravity,  "  am 
travelling  for  love." 

"  For  love  ?  " 

"  For  love,"  and  then  he  proceeded,  unasked,  to 
relate  to  me  a  long  story  of  a  love  affair  which  had 
been  broken  off,  a  marriage  which  had  fallen 
through,  abductions,  duels,  and  I  know  not  what  be- 
side, concluding  his  narrative  with  the  assertion 
that  he  was  travellinsf  for  distraction  of  mind  and  to 
forget  the  beloved  one.  And,  in  truth,  he  did.  en- 
deavor to  distract  himself  as  much  as  possible,  for  at 
every  inn  we  entered,  from  the  first  one  to  that  in 
Gerona,  he  did  nothing  but  teaze  the  maids  ;  with 
perfect  gravity,  it  must  be  confessed,  but  also  with 
an  audacity  which  even  the  desire  for  distraction 
could  hardly  justify. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  reached  the 
frontier.  Estamos  en  Espafia,  cried  a  voice  ;  the 
diligence  stopped,  the  American  and  I  jumped  out 
again,  and  walked  with  much  curiosity  into  a  little 


b  SPAIN. 

tavern  to  see  the  first  sons  of  Spain  between  the 
walls  of  their  own  house.  We  found  a  half  dozen 
custom-house  officers,  the  host,  his  wife  and  children, 
seated  around  a  brazier.  They  addressed  us  in- 
stantly. I  asked  many  questions,  to  which  they  re- 
plied in  a  lively  and  ingenuous  manner,  which  I  had 
not  expected  to  find  in  the  Catalans,  depicted  in 
geographical  dictionaries  as  a  hard  people  of  few 
words.  We  asked  if  there  was  anything  to  eat,  and 
they  brought  us  a  famous  Spanish  chorizo,  a  species 
of  sausage  stuffed  with  pepper,  which  burned  the 
stomach,  a  bottle  of  sweet  wine  and  a  little  hard 
bread. 

"Well,  what  is  your  king  doing?"  I  asked  one  of 
the  custom-house  officers  after  having  rejected  the 
first  mouthfuls.  The  one  whom  I  addressed  ap- 
peared a  trifle  embarassed,  looked  at  me, then  at  the 
others, and  finally  gave  me  this  very  curious  answer: 

"  Bstii  rcinaitdo."     (He  is  reigning.) 

All  began  laughing,  and  while  I  was  preparing  a 
more  leading  question  I  heard  some  one  whisper  in 
my  ear : 

''Es  nn  rcpiiblicanoy 

I  turned  and  saw  the  proprietor  of  the  inn  look- 
ino^  at  the  ceiling. 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  and  immediately  changed 
the  subject.  Upon  reentering  the  diligence  my 
companion  and  I  laughed  heartily  at  the  innkeeper's 
warning,  both  of  us  being  astonished  that  the  politi- 
cal opinions  of  custom-house  officials  should  be 
taken  so  seriously  by  a  person  of  that  class  ;  but  in 
taverns  we  entered  afterward  we  heard  quite  a  dif- 
ferent story.  In  all  of  them  the  proprietor  or  some 
adventurer  was  to  be  found  reading  the  newspaper, 
surrounded  I))-  a  group  of  listening  peasants.     From 


BARCELONA.  7 

time  to  time  the  reading  was  interrupted,  and  some 
political  discussion  arose,  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand, as  they  were  speaking  Catalan,  but  the  gist 
of  which  I  could  gather,  however,  by  the  aid  of  the 
newspaper  which  I  had  heard  read.  Well,  I  must 
say  that  in  all  those  circles  there  breathed  a  republi- 
can spirit  which  would  have  made  the  flesh  of  the 
most  intrepid  follower  of  Amadeus  creep. 

One  amone  the  others — a  huo-e  man  with  a  fierce 
brow  and  deep  voice- — ^after  having  talked  for  some 
time  to  a  group  of  silent  listeners,  turned  toward  me, 
whom  he  had  mistaken,  from  my  incorrect  Castilian 
^onunciation,  for  a  Frenchman,  and  said  with  much 
solemnity  : 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  caballero!*' 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  I  tell  you  that  Spain  is  more  unfortunate  than 
France,"  having  said  which  he  began  pacing  the 
room  with  his  head  bowed  and  his  arms  crossed 
over  his  breast.  I  heard  others  speak  confusedly 
of  Cortes,  ministers,  ambitions,  betrayals,  and  other 
terrible  things.  One  single  person,  a  girl  at  the 
eating-house  in  Figueras,  knowing  that  I  was  Italian, 
said  to  me  smilino; :  "  Now  we  have  an  Italian 
king,"  and  shortly  thereafter,  as  we  were  gomg 
away,  she  added  with  graceful  simplicity  :  "  He 
pleases  me  !" 

It  was  still  night  when  we  reached  Gerona,  where 
King  Amadeus,  received,  as  it  is  said,  with  much  en- 
thusiasm, placed  a  stone  in  the  house  occupied  by 
General  Alvarez  during  the  celebrated  siege  of  1809. 
We  crossed  the  city  which  seemed  to  us  immense, 
sleepy  as  we  were,  and  impatient  to  throw  our- 
selves down  for  a  nap  in  a  railway  carriage,  and  fin- 
ally arrived  at  the  station,  leaving  for  Barcelona  at 
daybreak. 


8  SPAIN. 

Sleep  !  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  the  sun 
rise  in  Spain  :  how  could  I  sleep  ?  I  placed  myself 
at  a  window  and  never  withdrew  my  head  until  we 
reached  Barcelona.  Ah  !  no  pleasure  can  compare 
with  that  which  one  experiences  in  entering  an  un- 
known country,  with  the  imagination  prepared  for 
the  siorht  of  new  and  charmincj  thinijs,  with  a  thou- 
sand  recollections  of  fanciful  readings  in  one's  head, 
and  without  an)-  anxieties  or  cares.  To  advance 
into  that  country,  to  glance  eagerly  on  every  side 
in  search  of  something  that  will  make  you  compre- 
hend, if  )ou  do  not  know  it,  that  you  are  really 
here  ;  to  recognize  the  fact,  little  by  little,  here  in  the 
dress  of  a  peasant,  there  in  a  plant,  farther  on  in  a 
house  ;  to  see  as  one  proceeds  along  the  route  these 
signs,  colors  and  forms  multiply,  and  to  compare 
everything  with  the  idea  one  had  formed  of  it ;  to 
find  a  satisfaction  for  one's  curiosity  in  everything 
upon  which  the  eye  falls,  or  which  reaches  the  ear  ; 
in  the  faces  of  the  people,  in  their  gestures,  accents 
and  conversations  ;  to  give  vent  to  an  exclamation 
of  surprise  at  every  step  ;  to  feel  that  one's  mind  is 
expanding  and  becoming  clearer  ;  to  desire  together 
with  the  hope  of  a  speedy  arrival,  never  to  arrive  at 
all.  striving  to  see  everything,  asking  a  thousand 
questions  of  one's  neighbors,  making  a  sketch  of  a 
village,  arranging  a  group  of  peasants,  and  saying  a 
dozen  times  in  the  hour  :  ''  Here  I  am  !"  and  thinking 
that  one  of  these  days  you  will  tell  of  everything, — 
this  is  indeed  the  greatest  and  most  varied  of  human 
enjoyments.     The  American  was  snoring. 

The  portion  of  Catalonia  through  which  one  passes 
in  going  from  Gerona  to  Barcelona  is  varied,  fertile, 
and  admirabl)-  cultivated.  It  is  a  succession  of  little 
valleys,  surrounded  by  hills   of  graceful  form,  with 


BARCELONA.  9 

thick  groves,  torrents,  chasms,  and  ancient  castles  ; 
with  everywhere  a  healtliful  and  luxurious  vegeta- 
tion, and  a  vivid  green  reminding  one  of  the  severe 
aspect  of  the  valleys  of  the  Alps.  The  landscape  is 
embellished  by  the  picturesque  costume  of  the  peas- 
ants, which  corresponds  admirably  with  the  proud 
character  of  the  Catalan. 

The  first  whom  I  saw  were  dressed  from   head  to 
foot  in  black  velvet,  wearing  around  their  necks  a 
species  of  white     and   red-striped  shawl,   on   their 
heads  a  little  zouave  cap   which  was  very  red  and 
fell  over  the  shoulders  ;  some  of  them  had  a  pair  of 
kid-gaiters   laced  up  to   the  knees  ;  others  a  pair  of 
linen  shoes,  made  like   slippers,  with  a  corded   sole, 
open    in  front,    and  bound   around    the   foot    with 
crossed  black  ribbons,     A  dress,  in    fact,   easy  and 
elegant,  yet  at  the  same  time  severe  in  style.    It  was 
not    very   cold  ;    still   all   were    enveloped   in   their 
shawls,  so  that  only  the   end  of  the   nose  and  the 
point  of  the  cigarrito  were  visible  ;  and  they  looked 
like  gentlemen  who  were  coming  out  of  a  theatre. 
Not  alone  on  account  of  the  shawl,  but  from  the  way 
in  which    it    was    worn,    falling  on   one  side,    and 
arranged  in  a  manner  that  made  it  appear  as  if  quite 
carelessly  done,  and  with  those  folds  and  those  turns 
which  give  it  the  grace  of  a  mantilla  and  the  majesty 
of  a  cloak.     At  every  railway  station  there  were  sev- 
eral of  them,  each  one  with  a  shawl  of  a  different 
color,  not  a  few  of  them  dressed  in  fine,  clean  clothes, 
almost  all  very  neat,  and  posed  in  such  dignified  atti- 
tudes that  the   effect  of  their  picturesque  costume 
was  heightened  thereby.     Among  them  were  a  few 
dark  faces  ;  the  majority,  however,  were  white,  the 
eyes  dark   and  vivacious,  but  without  the   fire  and 
mobility  of  the  Andalusian  glances. 


lO  SPAIN. 

Little  by  little,  as  we  proceed,  the  villages,  houses, 
bridges  and  aqueducts  multiply,  and  all  things  which 
announce  the  vicinity  of  a  rich  and  populous  com- 
mercial city.  Granollers,  St.  Andrea  de  Palomar, 
Clot,  are  surrounded  by  workshops,  villas  and  gar- 
dens. All  along  the  route  one  sees  long  rows  of 
carts,  troops  of  peasants,  and  herds.  The  stations 
are  filled  with  people  ;  any  one  not  knowing  bet- 
ter would  think  he  was  crossing  one  of  the  prov- 
inces of  England  rather  than  one  in  Spain..,  After 
passing  the  station  of  Clot,  which  is  the  last  oefore 
reaching  Barcelona,  one  sees  on  every  side  large 
brick  buildings,  long  boundary  walls,  piles  of  building 
materials,  smoking  towers,  factories  and  workmen, 
and  one  hears,  or  seems  to  hear,  a  dull,  diffused,  in- 
creasing sound,  which  is  like  the  labored  breath  of 
a  great  city  that  is  moving  and  working.  In  fine, 
one  takes  in  at  a  single  glance  all  Barcelona,  the 
port,  the  sea,  a  wreath  of  hills,  and  everything 
shows  itself  and  disappears  in  an  instant,  and  you 
find  yourself  under  the  roof  of  the  railway  station, 
with  your  blood  in  a  ferment  and  your  head  in  con- 
fusion. 

An  omnibus,  as  large  as  a  railway  carriage, 
carried  me  to  the  nearest  hotel,  in  which,  as  I  en- 
tered, I  heard  Italian  spoken.  I  confess  that  I 
experienced  as  much  pleasure  at  the  sound  of  my 
native  tongue,  as  if  I  had  found  myself  after  a  year 
of  travel  at  an  interminable  distance  from  Italy.  It 
was,  however,  a  pleasure  of  short  duration.  A 
waiter,  the  one  whom  I  had  heard  speaking,  accom- 
panied me  to  my  room,  and  becoming  aware  by  my 
sniile  that  I  was  one  of  his  compatriots,  asked  me 
with  charming  grace  : 

"  Do  you  finish  from  arriving  ?  " 


BARCELONA.  II 

"  Finish  from  arriving-  ?  "  I  asked,  in  turn,  open- 
ing wide  my  eyes  with  astonishment. 

It  is  best  to  make  a  note  of  the  fact  here,  that  in 
Spanish  the  word  acabar  (to  finish  doing  a  thing) 
corresponds  with  the  French  expression — veiiir  de 
la  fair e. 

This  accounts  for  my  not  understanding  what  the 
man  wished  to  say. 

"  Yes,"  repHed  the  waiter,  "  I  ask  if  the  caballero 
has  just  descended  this  very  hour  from  the  iron 
road  ?  " 

"This  very  hour!  iron  road!  but  what  kind  of 
Itahan  do  you  speak,  my  friend  ?  " 

He  was  sHghdy  disconcerted,  but  I  afterward 
learned  that  at  Barcelona  there  are  a  great  number 
of  hotel  waiters,  cafe  employes,  cooks,  and  servants 
of  every  description  who  are  Piedmontese,  the  ma- 
jority of  them  from  Navarre,  who  went  to  Spain  as 
boys  and  who  speak  that  horrible  jargon,  a  mixture 
of  French,  Italian,  Castilian,  Catalan  and  Pied- 
montese, not  with  the  Spanish,  be  it  understood,  be- 
cause they  have  all  learned  the  Spanish,  but  with 
Italian  travellers,  in  this  way,  for  amusement,  just  to 
show  that  they  have  not  forgotten  their  native 
tongue.  So  that  I  heard  many  Catalans  say  :  "  Ah, 
there  is  very  little  difference  between  your  language 
and  ours  !  "  I  should  think  so  !  They  might  also 
add  what  a  Castilian  chorister  said  to  me,  in  a  tone 
of  benevolent  superiority,  on  board  the  boat  that 
took  me  five  months  later  to  Marseilles:  "The 
Italian  language  is  the  most  beautiful  of  the  dialects 
which  have  been  formed  from  ours  !" 

Scarcely  had  I  rid  myself  of  the  traces  of  the 
''horrible  7iuit"  which  the  crossing  of  the  Pyrenees 
had  left  upon  me,  before  I   dashed   out  of  the  hotel 


1 2  SPAIN. 


and  began  roaming  about  the  streets.  Barcelona  is, 
in  appearance,  the  least  Spanish  city  of  Spain, 
rXhere  are  large  buildings,  of  which  few  are  old,  long 
streets,  regular  squares,  shops,  theatres,  great  superb 
cafes,  and  a  continuous  coming  and  going  of  peo- 
ple, carriages  and  carts  from  the  shores  of  the  sea 
to  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  from  here  to  the  dis- 
tant quarters,  as  at  Genoa,  Naples  and  Marseilles. 
A  broad,  straight  street  called  the  Rambla,  shaded 
by  two  rows  of  trees,  crosses  nearly  the  entire  city 
from  the  harbor  up.  A  spacious  promenade,  lined 
with  new  houses,  extends  along  the  sea-shore,  on  a 
high-walled  dyke,  in  the  shape  of  a  terrace,  against 
which  the  waves  dash  ;  an  immense  suburb,  almost 
a  new  city,  stretches  along  the  north,  and  on  every^ 
side  new  houses  break  the  old  boundary  lines,  are 
scattered  over  the  fields,  on  the  hillsides,  and  ex- 
tend in  interminable  lines  as  far  as  the  neighboring 
villaofes.  On  all  the  surrounding-  heicrhts,  rise  villas, 
little  palaces,  and  factories,  which  dispute  the 
ground,  jostle  each  other,  appearing  one  behind  the 
other  until  they  form  a  great  wreath  around  the 
city.  On  every  side  there  is  manufacturing,  trans- 
forming and  renovating.  The  people  work  and 
prosper,  and  Barcelona  flourishes.      \ 

It  was  during  the  last  days  of  the  Carnival.  The 
streets  were  traversed  by  long  processions  of  giants, 
devils,  princes.  Moors,  warriors,  and  a  troop  of  cer- 
tain figures,  which  I  had  the  misfortune  to  meet 
everywhere.  They  were  dressed  in  yellow,  each 
carrying  a  long  cane,  at  the  top  of  which  was  tied 
a  purse  that  was  poked  under  every  one's  nose, 
into  all  the  shops,  windows,  even  up  to  the  balconies 
of  the  first  floors  of  the  houses,  asking  for  alms  in 
the  name  of  I  know  not  whom,  but  destined,  proba- 


BARCELONA.  13 

bly,  for  some  classical  revel  on  the  last  night  of  the 
Carnival.  The  most  curious  thing  which  I  saw  was 
the  masquerade  of  the  children.  It  is  the  custom  to 
dress  the  boys  under  eight,  some  as  men,  in  the 
French  style,  in  complete  evening  dress,  with  white 
gloves,  great  mustaches  and  long  hair ;  some  as 
grandees  of  Spain,  covered  with  ribbons  and  trin- 
kets ;  others  as  Catalan  peasants,  w^ith  cap  and  man- 
tle ;  the  girls  as  court  ladies,  amazons,  poetesses, 
with  the  lyre  and  crown  of  laurel  :  and  both,  too,  in 
the  costumes  of  the  various  provinces  of  the  state  ; 
some  as  flower-girls  of  Valencia,  some  as  Andalu- 
sian  gypsies,  others  as  Basque  mountaineers,  alto- 
gether the  oddest  and  most  picturesque  dresses  that 
can  be  imagined  ;  and  the  parents  lead  them  by  the 
hand  on  the  promenade,  so  that  it  is  like  a  rivalry  of 
good  taste,  phantasy  and  luxury,  in  which  the  people 
take  part  with  the  greatest  delight. 

While  I  was  seeking  the  street  which  would  lead 
me  to  the  cathedral,  I  met  a  troop  of  Spanish  sol- 
diers. I  stopped  to  look  at  them,  comparing  them 
with  the  picture  which  Baretti  draws  of  them  when 
he  talks  of  their  assault  upon  him  in  the  hotel,  one 
taking  the  salad  off  his  plate,  and  another  dragging 
the  side  bone  of  a  fowl  from  his  mouth.  One  must 
confess  that  from  that  time  to  the  present  they  are 
much  changed.  At  first  sight,  one  would  take  them 
for  French  soldiers,  as  they,  too,  wear  the  red  trous- 
ers, and  a  gray  jacket  which  falls  to  the  knee.  The 
only  notable  difference  is  the  head  covering.  The 
Spaniards  wear  a  cap  of  a  particular  pattern, 
crushed  at  the  back,  curved  in  front,  and  furnished 
with  a  vizor  which  folds  over  the  forehead.  This 
cap  is  made  of  gray  cloth,  and  is  hard,  light  and 
graceful,  bearing  the  name  of  its   inventor,  Ros  de 


14  SPAIN, 

Olano,  general  and  poet,  who  modeled  it  after  his 
own  hunting  hat.  The  majority  of  the  soldiers 
whom  I  saw,  all  of  the  infantry,  were  young,  short 
of  stature,  dark,  quick  and  clean,  as  one  is  accus- 
tomed to  imagine  the  soldiers  of  an  army  which  for- 
merly possessed  the  lightest  and  most  vigorous 
infantry  of  Europe,  feven  to-day  the  Spanish  Infan- 
try have  the  reputation  of  being  the  most  indefatiga- 
ble walkers  and  most  rapid  runners  ;  they  are  grave, 
proud,  and  full  of  a  national  pride,  of  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  form  an  adequate  idea  without  having 
seen  them  near  to.  --NThe  officers  wear  a  short,  black 
coat,  like  those  of  the  Italian  officers,  which,  when 
off  duty,  they  generally  throw  open,  thereby  display- 
ing a  vest  buttoned  to  the  throat.  In  their  leisure 
hours  they  never  carry  their  swords  ;  during  the 
marches,  like  the  soldiers,  they  wear  a  pair  of  black 
cloth  gaiters,  which  nearly  reach  the  knee.  A  regi- 
ment of  infantry,  in  complete  equipment  of  war,  pre- 
sents a  sight  both  graceful  and  warlike. 

(The  cathedral  of  Barcelona,  in  the  Gothic  style, 
surmounted  by  bold  towers,  is  worthy  of  a  place  by 
the  most  beautiful  of  Spain.  The  interior  is  formed 
by  three  vast  naves,  divided  by  two  rows  of  very 
high  pilasters,  slender  and  graceful  in  form  ;  the 
choir,  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  church,  is  orna- 
mented by  a  profusion  of  bas-reliefs,  filagrees  and 
figures  ;  under  the  sanctuar)-  is  a  subterranean 
chapel,  always  lighted,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  the 
tomb  of  Saint  Eulalia,  which  can  be  seen  thVougli, 
several  little  windows  opening  around  the  sanctuaryii' 
Tradition  relates  that  the  murderers  of  the  saint 
(who  was  very  beautiful)  wished  to  see  her  nude 
form  before  giving  her  the  death  blow  ;  ])ut  wliile 
they  were  removing  the  last  veil,  a  thick  mist  cov- 


BARCELONA,  1 5 

ered  her  and  hid  her  completely  from  view.  Her 
body  is  still  intact  and  as  fresh  as  during  life,  and 
there  is  no  human  eye  which  can  bear  the  sight  of 
it ;  once,  an  incautious  bishop,  who,  at  the  end  of 
the  last  century,  wished  to  uncover  the  tomb  and 
see  the  sacred  remains,  became  blind  while  in  the 
act  of  looking  at  them.  '  In  a  little  chapel  on  the 
right  of  the  high  altar,  lighted  by  many  little  jets, 
one  sees  a  Christ  on  the  cross,  in  colored  wood, 
leaning  a  trifle  to  one  side.  It  is  said  that  this 
Christ  was  on  a  Spanish  ship  at  the  battle  of  Le- 
panto,  and  that  it  was  bent  in  this  manner  in  trying 
to  avoid  a  cannon  ball,  which  it  saw  coming 
straight  toward  its  heart.  From  the  roof  of  the 
same  chapel  is  suspended  a  little  galley,  wnth  all  its 
oars,  built  in  imitation  of  that  upon  which  Don  John 
of  Austria  fought  against  the  Turks.  Under  the  or- 
gan, in  Gothic  style,  covered  with  tapestry,  hangs 
an  enormous  Saracen's  head,  with  open  mouth,  from 
which,  in  ancient  times,  sweetmeats  rained  down  for 
children.  )  In  the  other  chapels  there  are  a  beautiful 
marble  tomb,  and  some  praiseworthy  paintings  of 
Villadomat,  a  Barcelonian  painter  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  church  is  dark  and  mysterious.  A 
cloister  rises  beside  it,  upheld  by  superb  pilasters 
formed  of  slender  columns  and  surmounted  by  cap- 
itals overloaded  with  statuettes,  which  represent 
scenes  from  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  In  the 
cloister,  in  the  church,  in  the  litde  square  which 
stretches  out  before  them,  and  in  the  small  streets 
that  run  around  them,  is  an  air  of  melancholy  peace, 
which  attracts  and  saddens  one  like  the  garden  of  a 
cemetery.  A  group  of  horrible  bearded  old  women 
guard  the  door. 

In  the  city,  after  visiting  the  cathedral,  no  other 


1 6  SPAIN. 

ereat  monuments  of  interest  remain  to  be  seen.  In 
the  Square  of  the  Constitution  are  two  palaces  called 
Casa  de  la  Diputacion  and  Casa  Consistorial,  the  first 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  other  of  the  fourteenth, 
which  still  retain  some  portions  worthy  of  note,  the 
one  a  court,  the  other  a  door.  On  one  side  of  the 
Casa  dc  la  Dipittacioii  there  is  a  rich  Gothic  fagade- 
of  the  Chapel  of  St.  George.  There  is  a  palace  of 
the  Inquisition,  with  a  dismal  court,  and  little  win- 
dows with  heavy  bars,  and  secret  doors  ;  but  this  is 
nearly  all  restored  in  old  style.  There  still  remain 
several  enormous  Roman  columns,  in  the  Street  of 
Paradise,  which  are  lost  in  the  midst  of  modern 
houses,  surrounded  by  tortuous  staircases  and  dark 
rooms.  There  is  nothing  else  which  could  claim  the 
attention  of  an  artist.  In  compensation  for  this,  there 
are  fountains  with  rostral  columns,  pyramids,  statues  ; 
boulevards  lined  with  villas,  gardens,  cafes,  hotels  ; 
a  bull  circus  capable  of  holding  ten  thousand  spec- 
tators ;  (a  suburb  which  extends  along  a  promontory 
that  shuts  in  the  harbor,  built  with  the  symmetry  of 
a  chess-board,  and  inhabited  by  ten  thousand  sailors  ; 
many  libraries  ;  a  very  rich  museum  of  natural  his- 
tory, and  a  building  containing  archives,  which  is  one 
of  the  largest  depositories  of  historical  documents 
from  the  ninth  century  to  the  present  day,  that  is  to 
say,  from  the  first  Counts  of  Catalonia  to  the  War  of 
the  Independence.  J 

Outside  the  city  one  of  the  most  notable  things  is 
the  cemetery,  a  half  hour's  drive  from  the  gates,  situ- 
ated in  the  centre  of  a  vast  plain.  Seen  from  the 
exterior,  on  the  side  of  the  entrance,  it  looks  like  a 
garden,  and  makes  one  hasten  his  steps  with  an  al- 
most cheerful  feeling  of  curiosity.  But  scarcely  has 
one  crossed  the  portal  ere  he  stands  before  a  novel 


BARCELONA.  1 7 

and  indescribable  spectacle,  quite  different  from  that 
for  which  he  was  prepared.     The  stranger  finds  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  silent  city,  traversed  by  long, 
deserted  streets,  flanked  by  straight  walls  of  equal 
height,  shut  in  at  the  end  by  other  walls.      He  goes 
on  and  reaches  a  cross-road,  and  beyond  he  sees 
streets,   other  walls  and  other    distant  cross-roads. 
It  seems  like  being  in  Pompeii.    (The  dead  are  placed 
in  the  walls,  lengthwise,  arranged  in  different  rows, 
like   the   books    in    a   library.  -    A    kind    of    niche 
in     the     wall     corresponds     to     every    casket     in 
which   is   written   the   name  of  the  person   buried ; 
where  no  one  is  buried,  the  niche  bears  the  written 
word,  Propiedad,  which  signifies  that  the  place  has 
been  purchased.     The  majority  of  the  niches  are  en- 
closed by  glass,  others  by  gratings,  some  by  a  fine 
wire  netting,  and  contain  a  great  variety  of  objects, 
placed  there  in  honor  of  the  dead  by  their  respective 
families,  such  as  photographs,  little  altars,  pictures, 
embroideries,  artificial  flowers,  and,  not  infrequently, 
trifles  which  were  dear  to  them  in  life,  ribbons,  neck- 
laces, children's   playthings,  books,   pins  and  small 
pictures, — a  thousand  things  that   recall  home  and 
the   family,  and  indicate  the  profession  of  those  to 
whom   they   belonged  ;  so  that   one   cannot  look  at 
them  without  a  feeling  of  tenderness.     From  time  to 
time  one  sees  one  of  these  niches  empty  and  all  dark 
within — a  sign  that  a  casket  is  to  be  placed  there 
during  the  day.     The  family  of  the  dead  are  obliged 
to  pay  a  certain  sum  yearly  for  that  space.     When 
they  cease  to  pay,  the  casket  is  removed  and  carried 
to  the  common  ditch  of  the  cemetery  for  the  poor, 
which   is   reached  by  another  street.     While  I  was 
there,  a  burial  took  place  ;   I  saw  them  in  the  distance 
placing  the  ladder  and  raising  the  coffin,  so  I  passed 


1 8  SPAIN. 

on.     One   night  a  crazy  man   hid  in  one  of  those 
empty  vaults  ;  the  custodian  of  the  cemetery  passed 
with  a  lantern  ;  the  madman  uttered  a  fearful  shriek, 
and  the  poor  guardian  fell  to  the  ground  as  if  struck 
by   lightning,  and   was   seized  by   an   illness  which 
caused  his  death.     In  an  empty  niche  I  saw  a  beauti- 
ful lock   of  blonde  hair,   which  had   belonged    to    a 
young  girl  of  fifteen  who  had  been  drowned,  and  to  it 
was  attached  a  card  on  which  was  written  :    Qiierida  ! 
(Dear  one  !)     At  every  step   one    sees    something 
which  touches  the  heart  and  mind.     All  those  ob- 
jects produce   the   effect   of  a  confused  murmur  of 
voices    belonging  to  mothers,    wives,  children    and 
old  people,  which  seem  to  say  in  a  suppressed  tone  : 
"  It  is  I !  Look  !  "  I  At  every  cross-road  rise  statues, ' 
little  temples  and  obelisks,  with  inscriptions  in  honor 
of  the  citizens  of  Barcelona  who  performed  deeds  of 
charity  during  the  siege  of  the  yellow  fever  in  1821/ 
and  1870.   i 

This  portion  of  the  cemetery,  built,  if  one  may  so 
express  himself,  like  a  city,  belongs  to  the  middle 
class  of  the  people,  and  holds,  within,  two  vast  divis- 
ions ;  one  destined  for  the  poor,  bare  and  planted 
with  great  black  crosses  ;  the  other  set  apart  for  the 
rich,  larger  even  than  the  first,  cultivated  like  a  gar- 
den, surrounded  by  chapels,  rich,  varied  and  superb. 
In  the  midst  of  a  forest  of  willows  and  cypresses,  rise 
on  every  side  columns,  shafts,  enormous  tombs,  and 
marble  chapels  overloaded  with  sculpture,  surniounted 
by  bold  figures  of  archangels,  which  raise  their  arms 
to  Heaven,  pyramids,  groups  of  statues,  and  monu- 
ments, large  as  houses,  which  overtop  the  highest 
trees.  Between  the  monuments  are  bushes,  gratings, 
and  flower  beds,  and  at  the  entrance,  between  this 
and  the   other  cemetery,  there   is  a  superb   marble 


BARCELONA.  I9 

church,  surrounded  by  columns,  half  hidden  by  the 
trees,  which  nobly  prepares  the  soul  for  the  mag- 
nificent spectacle  of  the  interior.  On  leaving  this 
garden,  one  crosses  once  more  the  deserted  streets 
of  the  necropolis,  which  seem  more  silent  and  sad 
than  at  one's  first  entrance.  Having  passed  the 
portal,  one  greets  again  with  pleasure  the  variegated 
houses  of  the  suburbs  of  Barcelona,  scattered  over 
the  country  like  advance  guards  placed  there  to  an- 
nounce the  fact  that  the  populous  city  is  stretching 
out  and  advancing. 

From  the  cemetery  to  the  cafe  is  indeed  a  leap  ; 
but  in  travelling  one  must  needs  take  even  longer 
ones.  The  cafes  of  Barcelona,  like  almost  all  the 
cafes  of  Spain,  consist  of  an  immense  saloon,  orna- 
mented with  great  mirrors,  and  as  many  tables  as 
it  will  hold,  of  which,  by  the  way,  one  rarely  re- 
mains empty  even  for  a  single  half  hour  during  the 
clay.  In  the  evening  they  are  so  crowded  that  one 
is  often  forced  to  wait  quite  a  time  in  order  to  pro- 
cure even  a  little  place  near  the  door.  Around 
every  table  there  is  a  circle  of  five  or  six  caballcros, 
with  the  capa  over  their  shoulders  (this  is  a  mantle 
of  dark  cloth,  furnished  with  a  large  hood,  which  is 
worn  instead  of  our  capeless  cloak),  and  in  every 
circle  they  are  playing  dominoes.  It  is  the  favorite 
game  of  the  Spanish.  In  the  cafes,  from  twilight 
until  midnight,  .is  heard  the  dull,  continuous,  deaf- 
ening sound,  like  the  noise  of  hailstones,  from  thou- 
sands of  markers  turned  and  returned  by  a  hundred 
hands,  so  that  one  is  almost  obliged  to  raise  his 
voice  in  order  to  make  himself  heard  by  the  person 
sitting  near  him.  The  customary  beverage  is  choc- 
olate, most  delicious  in  Spain,  served,  as  a  rule,  in 
little  cups  ;  it  is  thick  as  juniper  preserve,  and  hot 


20  SPAIN. 

enough  to  burn  one's  throat.  One  of  these  httle 
cups,  with  a  drop  of  milk,  and  a  pecuHar,  very  soft 
cake,  which  is  called  bollo  (chocolate  tablet),  is  a 
breakfast  fit  for  Lucullus.  Between  one  bollo  and 
the  other  I  made  my  studies  of  the  Catalan  charac- 
ter, talking  with  all  the  Don  Ftdanos  (a  name  as  sa- 
cred in  Spain  as  Tizio  with  us)  who  were  kind 
enough  not  to  mistake  me  for  a  spy  sent  from  Mad- 
rid to  ferret  out  the  secrets  in  the  Catalonian  air. 

People  in  those  days  were  much  excited  about 
politics.  It  happened  to  me  several  times  when 
speaking  most  innocently  of  a  newspaper,  a  person, 
or  any  fact  to  \ki&  caballcro  who  accompanied  me,  in 
the  cafe,  shop  or  theatre,  to  feel  my  foot  touched 
and  hear  some  one  whisper  in  my  ear  :  "  Be  careful, 
the  gentleman  at  your  right  is  a  Carlist.  Hush,  that 
man  is  a  republican,  the  other  a  Sagastino  ;  the  one 
beside  you  is  a  radical,"  etc.,  etc.  Every  one  talked 
politics.  I  found  a  furious  Carlist  in  a  barber  who, 
discovering  from  my  pronunciation  that  I  was  a  com- 
patriot of  the  king,  tried  to  draw  me  into  a  discus- 
sion. I  did  not  say  a  word,  because  he  was  shaving 
me,  and  a  resentment  of  my  national  pride  might 
have  caused  the  first  bloodshed  of  the  civil  war  ;  but 
the  barber  persisted,  and  not  knowing  any  other  way 
of  bccrinnino;  the  arofument,  he  said  at  last,  in  a  Qra- 
cious  tone  :  "  Do  you  know,  caballcroy  that  if  there 
arose  a  war  between  Italy  and  Spain,  Spain  would 
not  be  afraid  ?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  convinced  of  it,"  I  replied,  out  of 
recfard  for  the  razor.  Then  he  assured  me  that 
France  would  declare  war  with  Italy  as  soon  as 
Germany  was  paid  ;  there  is  no  escape  from  it.  I 
made  no  response.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
and  finally  said  maliciously  :   "  Great  events  will  oc- 


BARCELONA.  21 

cur  before  long  !  "  The  Barcelonese  were  pleased, 
however,  that  the  king  had  presented  himself  to 
them  in  such  a  quiet  and  confident  manner,  and  the 
common  people  remember  with  admiration  his  en- 
trance into  the  city.  I  found  sympathy  for  the  king 
even  in  those  who  murmured  between  their  teeth  : 
"  He  is  not  Spanish,"  or,  as  one  of  them  said  to  me  : 
"  Do  you  think  a  Castilian  king  would  do  well  at 
Rome  ?  "  a  question  to  which  one  inust  answer  :  "  I 
do  not  understand  politics  ■ — "  and  the  discussion  is 
finished. 

But  really  the  most  implacable  are  the  Carlists. 
They  say  disgraceful  things  of  our  revolution  in  the 
most  perfect  good  faith  ;  being  for  the  greater  part 
convinced  that  the  real  king  of  Italy  is  the  Pope, 
that  Italy  wishes  him,  and  has  bowed  her  head  un- 
der the  sword  of  Victor  Emanuel,  because  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do  ;  but  that  she  is  waiting  for  a  pro- 
pitious occasion  in  order  to  liberate  herself,  as  the 
Bourbons  and  others  have  done.  The  following 
anecdote  may  serve  to  prove  it.  I  quote  it  as  I 
heard  it  narrated,  without  the  slightest  desire  to 
wound  the  person  who  was  the  principal  actor. 
Once  a  young  Italian,  whom  I  know  intimately,  was 
presented  to  one  of  the  most  highly  esteemed  ladies 
of  the  city,  and  received  with  perfect  courtesy. 
Several  Italians  were  present.  The  lady  spoke 
with  much  sympathy  of  Italy,  thanked  the  young 
man  for  the  enthusiasm  he  displayed  for  Spain, 
maintained,  in  a  word,  a  bright  and  charming 
conversation  with  her  appreciative  guest  for  nearly 
the  entire  evening.  Suddenly  she  asked  him  : 
"In  returning  to  Italy  in  what  city  shall  you 
setde  ?  " 

"  In  Rome,"  replied  the  young  man. 


22  SPAIN. 

"  To  defend  the  Pope  ?  "  asked  the  lady,  with  the 
most  perfect  frankness. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her,  and  ingenuously 
replied,  with  a  smile  :  "  No,  indeed !  " 

That  No  gave  rise  to  a  tempest.  The  lady  forgot 
that  the  young  man  was  Italian  and  her  guest,  and 
broke  out  into  such  furious  invectives  against  Victor 
Emanuel,  the  Piedmontese  government,  Italy  (be- 
ginning from  the  entrance  of  the  army  into  Rome, 
until  the  War  of  the  Marshes  and  Umbria),  that  the 
unfortunate  stranger  became  as  white  as  a  sheet.  But 
controlling  himself  he  made  no  reply,  and  left  to 
the  other  Italians,  who  were  old  friends,  the  task  of 
sustaining  the  honor  of  their  country.  The  discussion 
lasted  for  a  time  and  was  very  fiery  ;  the  lady  dis- 
covered that  she  had  allowed  herself  to  go  too  far, 
and  showed  that  she  regretted  it ;  but  it  was  still 
very  evident  from  her  words  that  she  was  con- 
vinced, and  with  her  who  knows  how  many 
others !  that  the  union  of  Italy  had  been  compassed 
against  the  will  of  the  Italian  people,  by  Piedmont 
and  the  kinof,  from  a  desire  for  dominion  and  from  a 
hatred  to  religion,  etc. 

The  common  people,  however,  are  republican  in 
their  feelings,  and  as  they  have  the  reputation  of 
being  quicker  to  act  than  those  who  promise  more, 
they  are  held  in  fear.  When  they  wish  to  spread  the 
rumor  of  an  approaching  revolution  in  Spain,  they 
begin  to  say  it  will  break  out  in  Barcelona,  or  that  it 
is  about  to  break  out  there,  or  that  it  has  already 
broken  out  there. 

The  Catalans  do  not  wish  to  be  classed  with  the 
Spaniards  of  other  provinces.  '•  We  are  Spaniards," 
they  say,  "but,  be  it  understood,  of  Catalonia;"  a 
people,  in  short,  who  work  and  think,  and  to  whose 


BARCELONA,  23 

ears  the  sound  of  mechanical  instruments  is  more 
grateful  than  the  music  of  a  guitar.  "  We  do  not 
envy  Andalusia  her  romantic  fame,  the  praises  of  the 
poets  nor  the  illustrations  of  painters.  We  content 
ourselves  with  being  the  most  serious  and  indus- 
trious people  of  Spain."  They  speak  of  the  affairs 
of  their  brothers  in  the  south  as  the  Piedmontese 
once  talked  (now  less  frequently)  of  the  Neapolitans 
and  the  Tuscans  : 

"  Yes,  they  have  talent,  imagination,  they  talk  well 
and  are  amusing ;  but  we  have,  as  a  counterbalance, 
greater  strength  of  will,  greater  aptitude  for  scien- 
tific studies,  a  greater  degree  of  popular  education, 
*      *     *     and  then     '•'     *      *     character." 

I  heard  a  Catalan,  a  man  of  genius  and  learn- 
ing, lament  that  the  War  of  the  Independence  had 
fraternized  too  thoroughly  the  different  provinces  of 
Spain,  because  it  happened  that  the  Catalans  con- 
tracted a  portion  of  the  defects  of  the  south  without 
these  people  having  acquired  any  of  the  good  quali- 
ties of  the  Catalans. 

"  We  have  become,"  he  said,  "  lighter  headed," 
and  he  refused  to  be  comforted. 

A  shopkeeper,  of  whom  I  asked  what  he  thought 
of  the  character  of  the  Castilians,  replied  very 
brusquely  that  in  Jiis  opinion  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  Catalonia  if  there  were  no  railway  between 
Barcelona  and  Madrid,  because  business  with  that 
people  corrupted  the  character  and  customs  of  the 
Catalans.  When  they  speak  of  a  loquacious  deputy 
they  say : 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is  an  Andalusian." 

Then  they  ridicule  their  poetic  language,  their 
softened  pronunciation,  their  infantile  gaiety,  vanity 
and  effeminacy.    And  the  Andalusians,  in  their  turn, 


24  SPAIN-. 


speak  of  the  Catalans  as  a  capricious,  literary  and 
artistic  young  lady  would  talk  of  one  of  those  house- 
wifely girls  who  would  rather  read  the  Genoese  cook- 
book than  the  romances  of  George  Sand.  They 
are  a  hard  people,  they  say,  all  alike,  who  have  no 
head  for  anything  but  arithmetic  and  mechanics,- — 
barbarians  who  would  make  a  press  of  the  statue  of 
Montanes,  and  a  wax  cloth  of  one  of  Murillo's  can- 
vases— real  Spanish  Boeotians,  who  are  insupportable 
with  their  wretched  jargon,  crustiness  and  their 
pedantic  gravity. 

Catalonia  is,  in  fact,  perhaps  the  Spanish  province 
which  is  of  the  least  account  in  the  history  of  the 
fine  arts.  The  only  poet,  not  great,  but  celebrated, 
who  was  born  at  Barcelona,  is  Juan  Boscan,  who 
flourished  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  was  the  first  to  introduce  into  Spanish  litera- 
ture the  hendeca  syllable,  ballad,  sonnet,  and  all  the 
forms  of  the  lyric  Italian  poetry,  of  which  he  was  a 
passionate  admirer.  Upon  what  does  such  a 
great  transformation  in  the  literature  of  a  peo- 
ple depend?  Did  it  arise  from  the  fact  that 
Boscan  went  to  live  at  Granada  when  the  Court  of 
Charles  V  was  there, and  that  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance there  of  an  ambassador  of  the  republic  of 
Venice,  Andrea  Navagero,  who  knew  by  heart  the 
verses  of  Petrarch,  and  in  recitino-  them  said  to  him  : 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  you  Spaniards  might  write 
like  this  ?     Try  !  " 

Boscan  made  the  attempt;  all  the  literati  of  Spain 
cried  out  against  him.  They  said  that  the  Italian 
verse  was  not  sonorous,  that  the  poetry  of  Petrarch 
was  mawkishly  effeminate,  that  Spain  did  not  need 
to  write  down  her  poetic  inspirations  on  the  ruled 
lines  of  any  one.     But  Boscan  remained  firm.     Gar- 


BARCELONA.  2$ 

cilaso  cle  la  Vega,  the  valorous  cavalier,  a  friend  of 
his,  who  afterward  received  the  glorious  title  of  Mal- 
herbe  of  Spain,  followed  his  example.  The  body  of 
reformers  increased  little  by  little,  became  an  army, 
and  finally  conquered  and  governed  the  entire  liter- 
ature. The  true  reformer  was  Garcilaso,  but  Boscan 
had  the  merit  of  the  first  idea,  and  thus  Barcelona 
the  honor  of  having  given  to  Spain  the  person  who 
changed  the  style  of  its  literature. 

During  the  few  days  of  my  stay  at  Barcelona,  I 
used  to  pass  the  evening  with  some  of  the  young 
Catalans  in  walking  on  the  sea-shore  in  the  moon- 
light until  late  at  night.  They  all  knew  a  litde  Ital- 
ian and  were  very  fond  of  our  poetry  ;  so  for  hours 
together  we  did  nothing  but  declaim,  they  from 
Zorilla,  Espronceda  and  Lopez  de  la  Vega,  I  from 
Foscolo,  Berchet  and  Manzoni,  each  in  turn  in  a  sort 
of  rivalry  to  see  who  would  repeat  the  most  beauti- 
ful verse.  It  is  a  novel  experience,  that  of  trying  to 
recite  extracts  from  our  poets  in  a  foreign  country. 
When  I  saw  my  Spanish  friends  listening  attentively 
to  the  narrative  of  the  battle  of  Maclodio,  become 
moved  little  by  little,  and  then  so  excited  that  they 
seized  me  by  the  arm  and  exclaimed  with  a  Castilian 
accent  which  made  their  words  dearer  still,  "  Beau- 
tiful !  sublime  !  "  I  felt  my  blood  stirred  with  emo- 
tion, and  if  it  had  been  daylight  they  would  have 
seen  me  turn  pale  as  a  ghost.  They  recited  poems 
in  the  Catalan  language.  I  say  language  because  it 
has  a  history  and  literature  of  its  own,  and  was 
not  relegated  to  the  state  of  a  dialect  until  political 
predominance  was  assumed  by  Castile,  who  im- 
posed her  idiom,  as  the  general  one,  upon  the  State. 
Although  it  is  a  harsh  language,  all  clipped  words, 
disaereeable  at  first  to  one  who  has  not  a   delicate 


26  SPAIiV. 

ear,  it  has,  nevertheless,  many  notable  qualities,  of 
which  the  popular  poets  have  made  admirable  use  as 
it  lends  itself  particularly  to  imitative  harmony.  A 
poem  which  they  recited  to  me,  the  first  lines  of 
which  imitate  the  measured  sound  of  a  railway  train, 
drew  forth  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  Yet  without 
explanations,  even  to  those  familiar  with  Spanish, the 
Catalan  is  unintelligible.  They  speak  rapidly,  with 
closed  teeth,  without  aiding  the  voice  by  gestures, 
so  that  it  is  difficult  to  catch  the  meaning  of  ever 
so  simple  a  sentence,  and  quite  an  affair  if  one  is 
able  even  to  understand  a  word  here  and  there.  i 
Yet  even  the  lower  classes  can  speak  Castilian  1 
when  it  is  necessary,  although  with  difficulty  and 
entirely  without  grace,  but  still  decidedly  better  than 
the  common  people  of  the  northern  provinces  of 
Italy  do  the  Italian.  Not  even  the  cultivated  people 
in  Catalonia  speak  the  national  language  perfectly  ; 
the  Castilian  recognizes  the  Catalan  first,  aside  J 
from  the  pronunciation,  by  the  voice,  and  above  all 
by  the  use  of  illegitimate  phrases.  For  this  rea- 
son, a  stranger  who  goes  to  Spain  laboring  under 
the  delusion  that  he  speaks  the  language  well  may 
preserve  his  illusion  as  long  as  he  remains  in  Cata'- 
lonia,  but  when  he  gets  into  Castile  and  hears  for 
the  first  time  that  burst  of  bon-motSy  that  profusion 
of  proverbs,  subtle  and  telling  idioms,  which  make 
him  stand  open-mouthed  from  amazement  (like  ^  j 
Alfieri  before  the  Mona  Vocaboliera  when  she 
talked  to  him  of  stockings),  farewell  all  illusions  ! 

The  last  evening  I  went  to  the  Liceo,  which  has 
the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
theatres  in  Europe,  and  perhaps  the  largest.  It  was 
filled  from  the  pit  to  the  gallery,  so  that  not  another 
hundred  people  could   have  found  place.     From  the    , 


BARCELONA.  2/ 

box  in  which  I  sat,  the  ladies  on  the  opposite  side 
looked  as  small  as  children,  and  in  half  closing  the 
eyes  they  only  appeared  like  so  many  white  lines, 
one  for  every  tier  of  boxes,  tremulous  and  glistening 
like  an  immense  garland  of  camelias  bejeweled  with 
dew  and  stirred  by  a  light  breeze.  The  boxes,  which 
are  very  large,  are  divided  by  a  partition  that  slopes 
from  the  wall  to  the  parapet,  leaving  the  persons 
seated  in  the  front  chairs  partly  exposed  to  view,  so 
that  the  theatre  seems  to  be  built  in  galleries,  and 
thus  acquires  an  air  of  lightness  which  is  very 
beautiful.  Everything  projects,  everything  is  un- 
covered, the  light  strikes  everywhere,  and  all  the 
spectators  see  each  other.  The  passages  are  spa- 
cious, so  that  people  come  and  go  and  turn  at  ease 
on  every  side,  can  look  at  each  lady  from  a  thou- 
sand points  of  view,  may  pass  from  gallery  to  box, 
from  box  to  gallery,  promenade,  gather  in  circles, 
and  wander  around  all  the  evening,  here  and  there, 
without  cominof  in  collision  with  a  livino"  soul.  The 
other  portions  of  the  building  are  in  proportion 
with  the  principal  one,  corridors,  staircases,  land- 
ings and  vestibules  suitable  for  a  grand  palace. 
There  are  ball-rooms  immense  and  gorgeous,  in 
which  one  could  put  another  theatre.  Yet  here, 
where  the  eood  Barcelonians  oucrht  to  think  of 
nothing  but  amusement  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day, 
in  the  contemplation  of  their  beautiful  and  superb 
women,  even  here  these  good  people  buy,  sell  and 
traffic  like  lost  souls.  In  the  corridors  there  is  a 
continuous  coming  and  going  of  bank  agents,  office 
clerks,  bearers  of  despatches,  and  a  ceaseless  hum 
of  voices  like  that  of  a  market.  What  barbarians ! 
How  many  handsome  faces,  how  many  beautiful 
eyes,  what  stupendous   heads  of  dark    hair  in  that 


28  SPAIN, 

crowd  of  women  !  In  olden  times,  the  young  Cata- 
lans, in  order  to  captivate  the  hearts  of  their  inam- 
orata, joined  a  fraternity  of  scoiirgers  and  went 
under  their  windows  with  a  metallic  whip  to  make 
the  blood  gush  through  their  skin,  and  the  fair  ones 
encouraged  them  by  saying  : 

"  Go  on  beating  yourself,  that's  right ;  now  I  love 
you,  now  I  am  yours  !"  How  many  times  that 
evening  I  was  ready  to  exclaim  :  "Gentlemen,  in  the 
name  of  charity,  give  me  a  metallic  whip!" 

The  followinof  morninof  before  sunrise,  I  started 
for  Saragossa,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  without  a 
feeling  of  sadness  in  leaving  Barcelona,  although  I 
had  only  been  there  a  few  days.  This  city,  despite 
of  the  fact  that  it  is  anything  but  la  JIo7^  de  las  Bellas 
ciudades  del  imtndo,  as  Cervantes  called  It,  this  city 
iof  traffic  and  storage,  disdained  by  poets  and 
painters,  pleased  me,  and  its  busy  people  inspired 
me  with  a  feeling  of  respect.  Then,  too,  it  is  always 
sad  to  leave  a  city,  although  a  foreign  one,  with  the 
certainty  of  never  seeing  it  again  !  It  is  like  bidding 
farewell  forever  to  a  travelling  companion  with 
whom  one  has  passed  an  agreeable  twenty-four 
hours  ;  he  is  not  a  friend,  yet  you  seem  to  love 
him  like  one,  and  you  will  remember  him  all  through 
life  with  a  feeling  of  desire  more  lively  than  you 
would  experience  toward  many  of  those  to  whom 
you  give  the  name  of  friends.  Turning  to  look 
once  more  at  the  city  from  the  little  window  of  the 
railway  carriage,  the  words  of  Don  Alvaro  Tarfe  in 
Don  Quixote  came  to  my  lips  :  "  Farewell,  Barce- 
lona, the  home  of  courtesy,  refuge  for  strangers, 
country  of  the  valiant,  farewell!" — and  I  added  sor- 
rowfully :  "  Here  is  the  first  leaf  torn  from  the 
rose-colored    book    of    travel  !       Thus    everything 


BARCELONA.  29 

passes.  .  .  .  Another  city,  then  another,  then 
another,  .  .  .  and  then  ?  .  .  .  I  shall  return 
home,  and  the  journey  will  have  been  like  a  dream, 
and  it  will  not  seem  as  if  I  had  been  away  at  all. 
.  .  .  Then?  .  .  .  Another  journey.  .  .  . 
New  cities,  again  sad  farewells,  and  once  more  a 
recollection  vague  as  a  dream.  .  .  .  Then  ?"  It 
is  very  unfortunate  for  any  one  to  allow  such 
thoughts  to  take  possession  of  him  on  a  journey ! 
Look  at  the  sky  and  the  country,  repeat  poetry  and 
smoke. 

Actios,  Barcelona,  Archivo  de  la  Cortesia  ! 


CHAPTER  IL 


SARAGOSSA. 


A  FEW  miles  from  Barcelona  one  begins  to  see 
the  indented  rocks  of  the  famous  Monserrate, 
a  strange  mountain  which  at  first  sight  gives  rise  to 
the  idea  of  an  optical  illusion,  so  difficult  is  it  to 
believe  that  nature  can  ever  have  had  so  extrava- 
gant a  caprice.  Imagine  a  series  of  slender  triangles 
which  touch  each  other,  like  those  made  by  children 
to  represent  a  chain  of  mountains  ;  or  a  pointed 
crown  stretched  out  like  the  blade  of  a  saw  ;  or 
so  many  sugar  loaves  placed  in  a  row,  and  you  will 
have  an  idea  of  the  shape  in  which  Monserrate  ap- 
pears at  a  distance.  It  is  a  collection  of  immense 
cones  which  rise  side  by  side,  one  above  another, 
or,  better  still,  one  single  huge  mountain  formed 
by  a  hundred  others,  split  from  top  to  bottom  almost 
to  a  third  of  its  height,  so  that  it  presents  two  great 
summits,  around  which  are  grouped  the  smaller 
ones  ;  the  highest  portions  are  arid  and  inacces- 
sible ;  the  lower,  covered  with  pines,  oaks,  arbutus 
and  juniper  ;  broken  here  and  there  by  immense 
grottoes  and  frightful  chasms,  and  scattered  with  her- 
mitages which  are  seen  on  the  airy  crags  and  in  the 
deep  gorges.  In  the  opening  of  the  mountain, 
between  the  two  principal  peaks,  rises  the  old  Con- 
vent of  the    Benedictines,    where   Ignatius   Loyola 

30 


SAJ?AGOSSA.  31 

meditated  in  his  youth.  Fifty  thousand  people, 
between  pilgrims  and  tourists,  go  every  year  to  visit 
the  convent  and  grottoes ;  and  on  the  eighth  day  of 
September  a  fete  is  celebrated  there  at  which  a  mul- 
titude of  people  from  every  part  of  Catalonia  gather. 

A  short  time  before  reaching  the  station  where 
one  leaves  the  train  to  climb  the  mountain,  a  crowd 
of  boys  burst  into  the  carriage.  They  were  accom- 
panied by  a  priest,  and  belonged  to  a  college  of 
some,  to  me  unknown,  village,  and  were  going  to 
the  Convent  of  Monserrate  on  an  excursion.  They 
were  all  Catalans,  with  pretty  pink  and  white  faces 
and  large  eyes.  Each  one  had  a  basket  containing 
bread  and  fruit.  Some  carried  sketch  books,  others 
opera  glasses  ;  ihey  laughed  and  talked,  tumbled 
about  and  enjoyed  themselves  generally.  Though 
I  paid  the  strictest  attention  with  ear  and  brain  I 
could  not  catch  one  single  word  of  that  wretched 
lingo  in  which  they  were  chattering.  I  began  a 
conversation  with  the  priest  who,  after  exchanging 
a  few  words  with  me,  said  : 

"  Look,  sir,  that  boy  there,"  pointing  to  one  of  the 
number,  "  knows  all  the  poetry  of  Horace  by  heart; 
that  other  one  solves  the  most  difficult  problems  of 
arithmetic  ;  this  one  was  born  for  philosophy,"  and 
so  he  continued  to  point  out  the  particular  gift  of 
each  one. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  and  cried:  "  Beretina !  " 
All  the  boys  took  from  their  pockets  the  little  red 
Catalan  caps,  and  giving  a  shout  of  joy  put  them  on 
their  heads ;  some  so  far  back  that  they  fell  over  the 
nape  of  the  neck  ;  others  quite  forward  until  they 
covered  the  end  of  the  nose,  and  at  a  sign  of  disap- 
proval from  the  priest,  those  who  had  them  on  the 
nape  of  the  neck  pulled  them  over  their  noses,  and 


32  SFJ/JV. 

those  who  had  them  over  their  noses  drew  them 
back  to  the  nape  of  the  neck.  Such  laughs,  excla- 
mations and  hand-clappings  as  they  indulged  in !  I 
approached  one  of  the  most  frolicsome,  and  for  a 
joke,  feeling  certain  that  it  would  be  like  talking  to 
a  wall,  I  asked  him  in  Italian  : 

"Is  this  the  first  time  you  have  made  an  excur- 
sion to  Monserrate  ?  " 

The  boy  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  re- 
plied very  slowly : 

"I  —  have  —  already  —  been  — •  there  —  several  — - 
times." 

"  Oh,  dear  child!  "  I  cried,  with  a  feeling  of  con- 
tentment difficult  to  imagine,  "  where  have  you 
learned  Italian  ?  " 

Here  the  priest  interrupted  me  to  say  that  the 
father  of  that  boy  had  lived  several  years  at  Naples. 
While  I  was  turning  toward  my  little  Catalan  to 
begin  a  conversation,  a  wretched  whistle  and  then  a 
disagreeable  cry  :  "Olesa!"  which  is  the  village  from 
which  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  is  made,  cut  short 
the  words  on  my  lips.  The  priest  bowed,  the  boys 
dashed  out  of  the  carriage,  and  the  train  started.  I 
put  my  head  out  of  the  window  to  salute  my  little 
friend  : 

"A  pleasant  walk!"  I  cried,  and  he,  detaching 
each  syllable,  replied  : 

"A— di— o!" 

Some  may  laugh  at  hearing  these  trifles  re- 
called, yet  they  are  the  greatest  pleasures  one  ex- 
periences in  travelling ! 

The  city  and  villages  which  one  sees  in  crossing 
Catalonia  in  the  direction  of  Arragon  are  almost  all 
inhabited  and  flourishing,  and  surrounded  by  houses 
of  industr}',  factories,  and  buildings  in  process  of  con- 


SARAGOSSA.  33 

struction/from  whence  are  seen,  rising  on  every  side 
beyond  the  trees,  dense  columns  of  smoke,  and  at 
every  station,  a  coming  and  going  of  peasants  and 
merchants.  The  country  is  an  alternate  succession 
of  cultivated  plains,  gentle  slopes  and  picturesque 
little  valleys,  covered  with  groves  and  crowned  by 
old  castles  as  far  as  the  village  of  Cervera.  Here 
one  begins  to  see  great  stretches  of  arid  territory, 
with  a  few  scattered  houses  which  announce  the 
neighborhood  of  Arragon  ;  then  as  suddenly  enters 
a  smiling  valley,  covered  with  olive  trees,  vines,  mul- 
berry and  fruit  trees,  scattered  with  villages  and 
villas  ;  on  one  side  the  high  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees 
appear ;  on  the  other,  Arragonese  Mountains  ;  Lerida, 
the  glorious  city  of  ten  sieges,  stretched  along  the 
banks  of  the  Segre  on  the  slope  of  a  beautiful  hill ; 
and  all  around  a  luxuriant  vegetation,  a  variety  of 
views,  and  a  magnificent  spectacle.  It  is  the  last 
sio-ht  of  Catalonian  country  ;  a  few  moments  later 
one  enters  Arragon. 

Arragon !  How  many  vague  histories  of  wars, 
of  bandits,  queens,  poets,  heroes,  and  famous  loves 
this  sonorous  name  recalls  to  one's  mind !  And 
what  a  profound  feeling  of  sympathy  and  respect ! 
The  old,  noble,  and  proud  Arragon,  upon  whose 
forehead  shines  the  most  splendid  ray  of  Spain's 
glory,  upon  whose  century-old  shield  stands  writ- 
ten in  characters  of  blood  :  "Liberty  and  Valor." 
When  the  world  bowed  beneath  the  yoke  of 
tyranny,  the  people  of  Arragon  said  to  their  kings 
by  the  mouth  of  the  chief  justice  :  "  We,  who 
are  your  equals  and  more  powerful  than  you,  have 
chosen  you  to  be  our  lord  and  king  with  the  under- 
standing that  you  preserve  our  rights  and  liberties, 
otherwise  not."     And  the  kings  kneeled  before  the 


34  SPAIN. 

majesty  of  the  magistrate  of  the  people,  and  took 
their  oath  on  the  sacred  formula.  In  the  midst  of 
the  barbarities  of  the  mediaeval  ages  the  proud 
Arragonese  knew  nought  of  torture  ;  secret  tribu- 
nals were  banished  from  their  codes  ;  all  its  institu- 
tions protected  the  liberty  of  the  citizen,  and  the  law 
had  absolute  dominion.  They  descended,  ill-fitted 
for  the  restricted  country  of  the  mountains,  from 
Sobrarbe  to  Huesca,  from  Huesca  to  Saragossa,  and 
entered  the  Mediterranean  as  conquerors.  Joined 
with  strong  Catalonia,  they  redeemed  from  Arabic 
mastery  the  Balearics  and  Valencia,  fought  at  Murat 
for  their  outraged  rights  and  violated  consciences, 
subdued  the  adventurers  of  the  house  of  Anjou,  de- 
priving them  of  their  Italian  territory,  broke  the 
chains  of  the  harbor  of  Marseilles,  which  still  hang 
from  the  walls  of  their  temples,  became  masters  of 
the  sea  from  the  Gulf  of  Taranto  to  the  straits  of  the 
Gaudalquiver  with  the  ships  of  Ruggero  di  Lauria, 
subdued  the  Bosphorus  with  the  ships  of  Ruggero 
di  Flor  ;  from  Rosas  to  Catania  they  traversed  the 
Mediterranean  on  the  wings  of  victory  ;  and  as  if 
the  west  were  too  confined  a  space  for  their  great- 
ness, they  went  to  inscribe  on  the  heights  of  Olym- 
pus, on  the  stones  of  Piraeus,  on  the  superb  moun- 
tains which  are  near  by  the  gates  of  Asia,  the 
immortal  name  of  their  country. 

These  thoughts  (although  not  quite  in  the  same 
words,  because  I  did  not  have  before  me  a  certain  book 
of  Emilio  Castelar)  revolved  in  my  mind  as  I  entered 
Arragon.  And  the  first  thing  which  presented  itself 
to  my  eyes  on  the  bank  of  the  Cinca  was  the  litde 
village  of  Monzon,  noted  for  the  famous  assemblies 
of  the  Cortes  and  for  the  alternate  assaults  and  de- 
fenses of  the  Spanish  and  French, — a  fate  which  was 


:5AA'AG0SSJ.  35 

common  during  the  War  of  the  Independence  to  al- 
most all  the  villages  of  those  provinces.  Monzon 
lies  at  the  foot  of  a  formidable  mountain,  upon  which 
rises  a  castle  black,  gloomy  and  enormous  enough 
to  have  been  conceived  by  the  most  tyrannical  of  the 
feudal  chiefs  who  wished  to  condemn  to  a  life  of  ter- 
ror the  most  hated  of  the  villages.  The  same  gtude 
stops  before  this  monstrous  edifice  and  breaks  out 
into  an  exclamation  of  timid  surprise.  There  is  not, 
I  think,  in  all  Spain,  another  village,  another  moun- 
tain, another  castle  which  better  represents  the  ter- 
rified submission  of  an  oppressed  people  and  the 
perpetual  menace  of  a  ferocious  master.  A  giant  who 
holds  a  child  to  the  ground  with  his  knee  on  its 
breast  is  but  a  poor  simile  with  which  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  thing,  and  such  was  the  impression  it 
produced  upon  me  that,  though  knowing  nothing  of 
drawing,  I  tried  to  sketch,  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
the  landscape,  so  that  it  should  not  escape  from  my 
memory  ;  and  while  scratching  away,  I  composed 
the  first  verse  of  a  lugubrious  ballad. 

After  passing  Monzon,  the  Arragonese  country 
is  nothing  but  a  vast  plain,  enclosed  in  the  distance 
by  long  chains  of  reddish  hills,  with  a  few  miserable 
villages  and  some  solitary  heights  on  which  stand 
the  blackened  ruins  of  an  ancient  castle.  Arragon, 
formerly  so  flourishing  under  her  kings,  is  now 
one  of  the  poorest  provinces  of  Spain.  Only  on 
the  banks  of  the  Ebro  and  along  the  famous  canal 
which  extends  from  Yudela,  for  eighteen  leagues, 
nearly  to  Saragossa,  and  serves  at  the  same  time 
as  a  means  of  irrigation  for  the  fields  and  a  mode 
of  transportation  for  merchandise,  has  commerce 
any  life  ;  in  the  other  portions  it  is  languishing 
or  dead.     The  railway  stations  are  deserted  ;  when 


36  SPAIN. 

the  train  stops,  no  other  voice  is  to  be  heard 
than  that  of  some  old  troubadour  who  twangs  the 
guitar  and  sings  a  monotonous  song,  which  one 
hears  again  at  the  other  stations  and  then  in  the 
Arragonese  cities,  different  in  words,  but  with  the 
same  everlasting  melody.  As  there  was  nothing  to 
see  out  of  the  window,  I  turned  to  my  fellow-travel- 
lers. 

The  carriage  was  full  of  people  ;  and  as  the  second- 
class  carriages  in   Spain  have  no  compartments,  we 
were   forty  in   number,  counting  men   and   women, 
all  in  sight  of  each   other — priests,  nuns,  boys,  ser- 
vants and  other  personages  who  might  have  been 
merchants,  or  employes,  or  secret  agents  of  Don 
Carlos.     The  priests   smoked,  as  is  the   custom  in 
Spain,  their  cigarettes,  most  amiably  offering  their 
tobacco    boxes    and    papers    to    their    neighbors. 
Others    ate    voraciously,  passing  from    one    to    the 
other  a  species  of  bladder  which,  on  being  pressed 
with  both   hands,  sent   out  spurts   of  wine  ;  others 
were    reading  the    newspaper  and    frowning    as  a 
sign  of  deep  meditation.     A  Spaniard,  when  he  is 
in    company,   never   puts   into  his   mouth  a   bit    of 
orange,  a  piece  of  cheese,  or  a  mouthful  of  bread, 
until  he  has  invited  every  one  to  eat  with  him  ;  for 
this  reason,  I  saw  fruit,  bread,  sardines  and  glasses 
of  wine  passed  right  under  my  nose,  and  I  know  not 
what  beside,  everything  accompanied  by  a  polite  : 

"  Does  it  please  you  to  eat  with  me  ?"  To  which 
I  replied  : 

"  No,  thanks,"  against  my  will,  for  I  was  as 
hungry  as  the  Count  Ugolino. 

In  front  of  me,  her  feet  nearly  touching  mine,  sat 
a  nun,  who  was  young,  to  judge  from  her  chin,  which 
was  the  only  part  of  the  face  visible  below  the  veil, 


SAJiAGOSSA.  37 

and  from  a  hand  which  lay  carelessly  on  her  knee. 
I  watched  her  for  more  than  an  hour,  hoping  that 
she  would  raise  her  face,  but  she  remained  as  im- 
movable as  a  statue.  Yet  from  her  attitude  it  was 
easy  to  iudo-e  that  she   had   to   exercise  ereat  self- 

''1-1  • 

control  in  order  to  resist  the  natural  desire  to  look 
around  her  ;  and  for  this  reason  she  awakened  in  me 
a  feelino^  of  admiration.  What  constancy  ! — I  thouorht 
— what  strength  of  will !  What  power  of  sacrifice, 
even  in  the  smallest  things !  W^hat  noble  disdain 
for  human  vanities!  While  immersed  in  these 
thoughts,  my  eyes  fell  upon  her  hand, — it  Avas  a 
small  white  hand,  and  I  thought  it  seemed  to  move  ; 
I  look  more  closely,  and  see  that  it  stretches  itself 
slowly  out  of  the  sleeve,  spreads  the  fingers,  and 
rests  a  little  forward  on  the  knee  so  that  it  hangs 
clown,  and  it  turns  a  little  to  one  side,  is  gathered 
in  and  reextended  ao-ain.  Heavens  and  earth ! 
Anything  but  disdain  for  the  human  .vanities.  It 
was  impossible  to  deceive  oneself  apy  longer.  All 
that  manoeuvring  had  been  gone'lhrough  to  show 
the  little  hand  !  Yet  she  never  raised  her  head 
while  she  sat  there,  and  never  allowed  her  face  to 
be  seen  when  she  left  the  carriage  !  Oh  the  in- 
scrutable depths  of  the  feminine  soul ! 

It  was  foreordained  that  during  that  trip  I  should 
meet  no  other  friends  than  priests.  An  old  priest, 
of  benevolent  aspect,  addressed  me,  and  we  began  a 
conversation  which  lasted  almost  to  Sara^ossa.  At 
the  beginning,  when  I  told  him  I  was  an  Italian,  he 
seemed  a  trifle  suspicious,  thinking  me  perhaps  one 
of  those  who  had  broken  the  locks  of  the  Quirinal, 
but  having  informed  him  that  I  did  not  interest  my- 
self in  politics,  he  became  reassured  and  talked  with 
fullest    confidence.      We    fell    upon    literature.     I 


38  SPAIN. 

repeated  to  him  all  the  Pentecost  of  Manzoni,  which 
threw  him  into  ecstasies  ;  he  recited  to  me  a  poem 
of  the  celebrated  Luis  de  Leon,  a  writer  of  religious 
poetry  in  the  sixteenth  century  ;  so  we  became 
friends.  When  we  reached  Zuera,  the  last  station 
but  one  before  arriving  at  Saragossa,  he  rose,  bowed 
to  me,  and,  with  his  foot  on  the  step,  suddenly 
turned  and  whispered  in  my  ear  :  "  Be  prudent 
with  the  women,  for  they  lead  to  evil  consequences 
in  Spain."  Then  he  got  down  and  stopped  to  see 
the  train  start,  and  raising  his  hand  in  sign  of 
paternal  admonition,  he  said  once  more :  "  Be- 
prudent !" 

I  reached  Saracfossa  late  at  ni^ht,  and  in  grettinor 
out  of  the  train  I  was  instantly  struck  with  the 
peculiar  cadence  with  which  the  porters,  coachmen 
and  boys  were  speaking  as  they  disputed  over  my 
valise.  In  Arragon  it  may  be  said  that  the  Castilian 
is  spoken  even  by  the  most  ordinary  people, 
although  with  some  defects  and  some  rudeness,  but 
to  the  Spaniard  of  the  Castiles  a  half  word  is  suffi- 
cient for  the  recognition  of  the  Arragonese,  and  there 
is  no  Castilian,  in  fact,  who  does  not  know  how  to 
imitate  that  accent  and  ridicule  it  occasionally  for 
what  is  rough  and  monotonous  in  it,  almost  as  they 
used  to  do  in  Tuscany  with  the  Lucca  manner  of 
speaking. 

I  entered  the  city  with  a  certain  feeling  of  tremu- 
lous reverence  ;  the  terrible  fame  of  Saragossa  had  its 
effect  upon  me  ;  my  conscience  almost  pricked  me 
for  having  so  many  times  profaned  its  name  in  the 
school  of  rhetoric,  when  I  cast  it,  as  a  challenge,  in 
the  faces  of  t}Tants.  The  streets  were  dark  ;  I  could 
only  see  the  black  outlines  of  the  roofs  and  the  bell 
towers  against  the  starry  sky,  and  I  only  heard  the 
sound  of  the  hotel   onuiibuses  as  they  were  moving 


SARAGOSSA.  39 

off.  At  certain  turns  of  the  street  I  seemed  to  see 
daggers  and  gun-stocks  gleaming  at  the  windows, 
and  to  hear  the  distant  cries  of  the  wounded.  I 
would  have  given,  I  know  not  how  much,  if  day 
would  only  break,  in  order  that  I  might  satisfy  the 
intense  curiosity  with  which  I  was  possessed  to 
visit  one  by  one  those  streets,  squares  and  houses 
famed  for  desperate  struggles  and  horrible  murders, 
depicted  by  so  many  painters,  sung  by  so  many 
poets,  and  dreamed  of  by  me  so  many  times  before 
leaving  Italy,  as  I  said  to  myself  with  joy  :  "  I  shall 
see  it !  "  When  I  finally  reached  my  hotel,  I  looked 
closely  at  the  waiter  who  showed  me  to  my  room, 
smiling  amiably  at  him,  as  if  to  say  :  "I  am  not  an 
intruder  ;  spare  me  !  "  and  having  given  a  glance 
at  a  large  portrait  of  Don  Amadeus  hung  on  the 
wall  of  the  hallway  in  one  corner,  a  particular  com- 
pliment to  Italian  travellers,  I  went  to  bed,  for  I  was 
as  sleepy  as  any  of  my  readers  may  be. 

At  daybreak  I  rushed  out  of  the  hotel.  There 
was  neither  a  shop,  door  nor  window  open,  but 
scarcely  was  I  in  the  street  when  I  uttered  a  cry 
of  astonishment.  A  troop  of  men  were  passing,  so 
curiously  dressed  that  at  first  sight  I  mistook  them 
for  maskers,  and  then  I  thought  "  they  are  from 
some  theatre,  and  then,  no  ;  they  are  crazy."  Pic- 
ture to  yourself :  For  a  hat  they  wore  a  red  hand- 
kerchief knotted  around  the  head  like  a  ring-shaped 
cushion,  from  which  issued,  above  and  below,  their 
disordered  hair ;  a  woolen  blanket  in  blue  and 
white  stripes,  arranged  in  the  shape  of  a  mantle, 
falling  almost  to  the  ground  like  a  Roman  toga, 
came  next  ;  then  a  large  blue  girdle  around  the 
waist ;  a  pair  of  short  breeches  of  black  velvet, 
tight  at  the  knees  ;    white  stockings,  and  a  species 


40  SPAIN. 

of  sandal  with  black  ribbons  crossed  over  the 
instep  ;  and  still  this  artistic  variety  of  dress  bore 
the  evident  imprint  of  poverty  ;  yet  with  this  evi- 
dence of  poverty,  a  certain  something  so  theatrical, 
so  haughty,  so  majestic  in  their  bearing  and  ges- 
tures, almost  an  air  of  fallen  grandees  of  Spain, 
which  made  it  doubtful  in  seeing  them  whether  one 
ought  to  pity  them,  put  one's  hand  in  one's  purse,  or 
take  off  one's  hat  as  a  token  of  respect.  Yet  they  are 
only  peasants  from  the  neighborhood  of  Saragossa. 
But  what  I  have  described  is  merely  one  of  the 
thousand  varieties  of  the  same  style  of  dress.  In 
walking  on,  at  every  step  I  met  a  new  one  ;  there 
are  dresses  in  antique  fashion,  dresses  in  the  new, 
the  elegant  and  simple  ones,  those  for  fetes  and 
those  more  severe,  each  with  sashes,  handkerchiefs, 
cravats,  and  waistcoats  of  different  colors  ;  the 
women  with  crinoline  and  short  skirts  which  allow 
a  bit  of  the  leg  to  be  seen,  and  the  hips  raised  out 
of  all  proportions  ;  the  boys,  even  they,  wear 
striped  mantles,  handkerchiefs  around  their  head, 
and  assume  dramatic  attitudes  like  the  men.  The 
first  square  which  I  entered  was  full  of  these  peo- 
ple, divided  in  groups,  some  seated  on  door-steps, 
some  leaning  against  the  corners  of  the  houses, 
others  playing  the  guitar  and  singing,  many  going 
around  collecting  alms,  in  torn  and  ragged  clothes, 
yet  with  their  heads  erect  and  a  proud  glance. 
They  seemed  like  people  who  had  just  left  a  masked 
ball,  where  they  had  represented  together  a  savage 
tribe  from  some  unknown  country.  Little  by  little 
the  shops  and  houses  opened  and  the  Saragossans 
spread  through  the  streets.  The  citizens  in  their 
dress  do  not  differ  from  us,  but  there  is  something 
peculiar  in   their  faces.     To  the  gravity  of  the   in- 


SARAGOSSA.  4 1 

habitants  of  Catalonia  is  added  the  wide-awake  air 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Castiles,  enhvened  still 
more  by  an  expression  of  pride  which  is  peculiar  to 
the  Arragonese  blood. 

The  streets  of  Saragossa  have  a  gloomy  aspect, 
always  sad,  as  I  had  pictured  them  to  myself  before 
seeing  them.  Aside  from  the  Coso,  which  is  a  broad 
street  that  traverses  a  good  part  of  the  city,  describ- 
ing a  great  semicircular  curve, — the  Coso  formerly 
famous  for  the  races,  tournaments  and  jousts  which 
were  celebrated  there  during  the  public  festivals, — 
aside  from  this  beautiful,  cheerful  street,  and  a  few 
others  which  have  been  recently  remade  and  re- 
semble the  streets  of  a  French  city,  the  rest  are  nar- 
row and  tortuous,  lined  with  high  houses,  dark  in 
color,  illy  furnished  with  windows,  and  resembling 
old  fortresses.  They  are  streets  which  bear  an  im- 
print, a  character,  or,  as  others  say,  a  stamp  peculiar 
to  themselves,  which,  once  seen,  is  never  forgotten. 
For  the  rest  of  our  life,  when  we  hear  Saragossa 
named  we  shall  see  those  walls,  doors  and  windows 
as  if  we  had  them  before  us.  I  see  at  this  moment 
the  square  of  the  new  Tower,  and  I  could  draw  house 
by  house  and  color  them,  each  with  its  own  color ; 
and  it  seems  as  if  I  breathed  that  air,  so  vivid  are  all 
those  figures,  and  I  repeat  what  I  then  said  :  "  This 
.square  is  tremendous  " — wherefore,  I  do  not  know  ; 
it  may  ha\'e  been  my  illusion  ;  it  happens  with  cities 
as  with  faces,  that  each  one  reads  them  as  he  chooses. 
The  squares  and  streets  of  Saragossa  produced  this 
impression  upon  me,  and  at  every  turn  I  exclaimed  : 
"This  place  seems  made  for  a  battle,"  and  I  looked 
around  as  if  some  thing  were  lacking, — a  barricade, 
the  loopholes  and  cannons.  I  felt  once  more  all  the 
emotions  which  the  narrations  of  the  horrible  siege 


42  SPAIN. 

had  caused  me,  and  I  saw  the  Saragossa  of  1809,  and 
ran  from  street  to  street  with  increasing  curiosity,  as 
if  in  search  of  the  traces  of  that  sfiorantic  strueele 
which  astonished  the  world.  Here,  I  thought, 
pointing  out  to  myself  the  street,  must  have  passed 
Grandjean's  division  ;  from  that  point  issued  perhaps 
Musnier's  division  ;  from  there  Marlot's  division 
dashed  forth  to  the  combat.  Now,  let  us  go  forward 
as  far  as  the  corner,  I  Here,  I  fancy,  the  assault  of 
the  light  infantry  of  the  Vistula  took  place  ;  another 
turn :  here  the  Polish  light  infantry  made  a  dash  ; 
down  there  the  three  hundred  Spaniards  were  mas- 
sacred. At  this  point  the  great  mine  blew  into  the 
air  a  company  of  the  regiment  from  Valencia.  In 
that  corner  died  General  Lacoste,  struck  by  a  ball  in 
the  forehead.  Here  are  the  famous  streets  of  St. 
Engracia,  St.  Monica  and  St.  Augustine,  through 
which  the  French  advanced  toward  the  Coso,  from 
house  to  house,  by  force  of  mines  and  counter- 
mines, among  the  ruins  of  the  enormous  walls  and 
smoking  timbers,  under  a  shower  of  balls,  grape- 
shot  and  stones.  Here  are  the  squares  and  narrow 
blind  alleys,  where  were  fought  horrible  battles  hand 
to  hand,  with  blows  of  the  bayonet  and  dagger, 
scythes  and  bites  ;  the  barricaded  houses  defended 
room  by  room,  amid  flames  and  ruin,  the  narrow 
staircases  which  flowed  with  blood,  the  sad  court- 
yards which  echoed  cries  of  pain  and  desperation, 
were  covered  with  crushed  bodies,  and  witnessed  all 
the  horrors  of  the  plague,  famine  and  death. 

In  passing  from  street  to  street,  I  at  last  came  out 
in  front  of  the  church  Nncstra  Scfiora  di  Pilar,  the 
terrible  madonna  from  whom  protection  and  cour- 
age were  sought  by  the  squalid  crowd  of  soldiers, 
citizens  and  women  before  they  went  to  die  on  the 


SAJ?AGOSSA.  43 

bulwarks.  The  people  of  Saragossa  have  preserved 
for  her  their  old  fanaticism,  and  venerate  her  with 
a  peculiar  feeling"  of  amorous  terror,  which  is  intense 
even  in  the  souls  of  those  to  whom  any  other  re- 
ligious sentiment  is  foreign.  However,  from  the 
time  you  enter  the  square  and  raise  your  eyes  tow- 
ard the  church,  to  the  moment  when,  in  going 
away,  you  turn  to  look  at  it  for  the  last  time,  be 
careful  not  to  smile,  nor  to  be  guilty,  even  involun- 
tarily, of  an  apparent  act  of  irreverence  ;  for  there  is 
some  one  who  sees  you,  watches  you,  and  will  fol- 
low you  if  necessary.  If  all  faith  is  dead  in  you, 
prepare  your  mind,  before  crossing  that  sacred 
threshold,  for  a  confused  reawakening  of  infantile 
terrors,  which  few  churches  in  the  world  have  such 
a  power  of  arousing  in  the  hearts  of  the  coldest  and 
strongest  as  this  one  seems  to  possess. 

The  first  stone  of  Nucstra  Sefiora  del  Pilar  was 
laid,  1686,  in  a  place  where  there  rose  a  chapel 
erected  by  St.  James  as  a  receptacle  for  the  miracu- 
lous image  of  the  Virgin,  which  is  still  there.  It  is 
a  buildine  with  a  rectangular  foundation,  surmounted 
by  eleven  cupolas  covered  with  variegated  tiles, 
which  give  it  a  graceful  Moorish  air,  the  walls  un- 
adorned and  dark  in  color.  Enter.  It  is  a  huge 
church,  dark,  bare  and  cold,  divided  into  three 
naves,  surrounded  by  modest  chapels.  The  eye 
falls  instandy  upon  the  sanctuary,  which  rises  in  the 
centre  ;  there  is  the  statue  of  the  Virgin.  It  is  a 
temple  within  a  temple,  which  might  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  square  if  the  edifice  surrounding  it 
were  razed  to  the  ground.  A  circle  of  beautiful 
marble  columns,  placed  like  ellipses,  support  a 
richly-sculptured  cupola,  open  above,  and  orna- 
mented around   the   opening  with   bold    figures  of 


44  SPAIN. 

aneels  and  saints.  In  the  centre  of  the  his^h 
altar,  on  the  right,  the  image  of  St.  James  ;  on 
the  left,  at  the  back,  under  a  silver  canopy,  which 
stands  out  against  a  large  curtain  of  velvet  scattered 
with  stars,  amid  the  gfleaminor  of  a  thousand  votive 
offerings  and  in  the  glow  of  innumerable  lamps,  is 
the  famous  statue  of  the  Virgin,  placed  there  nine- 
teen centuries  ago  by  St.  James.  It  is  cut  in  wood, 
worn  by  time,  entirely  covered  (with  the  exception 
of  her  head  and  that  of  the  child)  by  a  superb  Dal- 
matica  (a  tunic  for  priests).  In  front,  between 
the  columns,  around  the  sanctuary,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance, at  the  end  of  the  nave  of  the  church,  at 
every  point  from  which  the  revered  image  can  be 
seen,  kneel  the  faithful,  prostrate,  so  that  their  heads 
almost  touch  the  ground,  holding  their  crucifixes  in 
their  hands.  There  are  among  them  women  of  the 
people,  workmen,  ladies,  soldiers  and  children,  and 
from  the  different  doors  of  the  church  there  is  a  con- 
tinual arrival  of  people,  slowly  moving  on  tiptoe, 
with  the  gravest  expression  of  face.  In  that  pro- 
found silence  not  a  murmur,  not  a  rustle  is  heard  ; 
the  life  of  that  crowd  seems  to  have  been  sus- 
pended, as  if  all  were  waiting  for  a  divine  appari- 
tion, a  hidden,  secret  voice,  or  some  tremendous 
revelation  from  that  mysterious  sanctuary.  Even 
he  who  does  not  believe  and  is  not  praying,  is 
forced  to  fix  his  eye  upon  the  object  upon  which  all 
glances  are  fastened,  and  the  course  of  his  thought 
is  arrested  in  a  species  of  anxious  expectation. 
Oh,  for  a  sound  of  that  voice  !  I  thought  ;  oh,  for 
some  apparition,  even  if  it  were  only  a  word  or  a 
sight  that  would  turn  me  gray  from  terror,  and 
make  me  utter  such  a  shriek  as  was  never  before 
heard   upon  cartli.  so  that  I  might  be  freed  forever 


SAJiAGOSSA.  45 

from  this  horrible  doubt  which  gnaws   at  my  brain 
and  saddens  my  life  ! 

I  tried  to  enter  the  sanctuary,  but  did  not  succeed 
in  doing  so,  for  I  should  have  had  to  pass  over  the 
shoulders  of  a  hundred  of  the  faithful,  some  of 
whom  already  began  to  look  furtively  at  me  because 
I  was  going  around  with  a  note-book  and  pencil  in 
my  hand.  I  made  an  effort  to  go  down  into  the 
crypt,  where  are  the  tombs  of  the  bishops  and  the 
urn  which  holds  the  heart  of  the  second  Don  John 
of  Austria,  a  natural  son  of  Philip  IV,  but  this  was 
not  permitted.  I  asked  to  see  the  vestments,  gold 
and  jewels  which  grandees,  princes  and  monarchs 
of  every  state  and  country  had  scattered  at  the  feet 
of  the  Virgin,  but  I  was  told  that  this  was  not  the 
proper  time,  and  not  even  in  displaying  a  gleaming 
peseta  could  I  bribe  the  honest  sacristan.  Yet  he 
did  not  refuse  to  give  me  some  information  concern- 
ing the  worship  of  the  Virgin  when  I  told  him,  in 
order  to  get  into  his  good  graces,  that  I  was  born  at 
Rome,  in  the  Borgo  Pio,  and  that  from  the  terrace 
of  my  home  one  could  see  the  windows  of  the 
Pope's  apartments. 

"  It  is  an  almost  miraculous  fact,"  he  said,  "  and 
one  which  could  hardly  be  credited  if  it  were  not 
attested  to  by  tradition,  that  from  the  time  when  the 
Virgin's  statue  w^as  placed  upon  its  pedestal  until 
the  present  day  (except  at  night,  when  the  church 
is  closed)  the  sanctuary  has  never  been  empty  for 
a  single  moment,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word. 
Nuestra  Senora  del  Pilar  has  never  been  alone.  In 
the  pedestal  there  is  an  indentation  deep  enough  to 
put  my  head,  which  has  been  made  by  kisses.  Not 
even  the  Arabs  had  the  courage  to  prohibit  the  wor- 
ship Q,{  Nitestra  Senora  ;  the  chapel  of  St.  James  was 
always  respected. 


46  SPAIN. 

"  The  lightning  has  fallen  into  the  church,  many 
times  near  the  sanctuary,  and  even  into  it,  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowded  people.  Well,  let  lost  souls  deny 
the  protection  of  the  Virgin  :  No  one  has — ever — 
been — struck!  And  the  bombshells  of  the  French? 
They  burned  and  mined  many  other  buildings,  but 
in  falling  upon  the  Church  of  Nuestra  Senora  they 
produced  as  little  effect  as  they  would  have  done  in 
striking  on  the  rocks  of  the  Sierra  Morena.  And 
the  French  who  pillaged  on  every  side,  did  they 
have  courage  enough  to  touch  the  treasures  of 
Nuestra  Sefwra  ?  One  general  only  allowed  him- 
self to  take  a  trifle  as  a  gift  for  his  wife,  offering  the 
madonna  a  rich  votive  offering  in  return,  but  do  you 
know  what  happened?  In  his  first  battle  a  cannon- 
ball  carried  off  one  of  his  legs.  There  does  not 
exist  the  ghost  of  a  general  or  king  who  has  ever 
been  able  to  impose  upon  Niiesti^a  Sefwra.  Then, 
too,  it  is  written  on  high  that  this  church  will  last 
until  the  end  of  the  world."     *     *     '•' 

And  so  he  went  on  in  this  way  until  a  priest  made 
him  a  sign  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  sacristy,  and  he 
bowed  to  me  and  disappeared. 

Upon  leaving  the  church,  my  mind  filled  with  the 
image  of  that  solemn  sanctuary,  I  met  a  long  row  of 
carnival  cars,  preceded  by  a  band  of  music,  accom- 
panied by  a  crowd,  and  followed  by  a  great  number 
of  carriages,  which  were  going  toward  the  Coso.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  having  seen  more  grotesque, 
more  ridiculous,  and  more  extraordinary  papier- 
mache  heads  than  those  worn  by  the  maskers  ;  so 
very  absurd  were  they  that,  although  I  was  alone 
and  not  in  the  least  inclined  for  gaiety,  I  could  not 
refrain  from  laughing,  any  more  than  I  should  have 
done    at  the    close    of  a   sonnet   by    Fucini.     The 


,  SARAGOSSA.  47 

people,  however,  were  silent  and  serious,  the  mask- 
ers full  of  gaiety.  One  would  have  said  that  in  both 
the  melancholy  presentiment  of  Lent  was  much 
stronger  than  the  fleeting  joy  of  carnival.  I  saw 
some  pretty  little  faces  at  the  windows,  but  no  type, 
so  far,  of  that  beauty  properly  called  the  Spanish,  of 
the  deep  tint  and  the  dark  eyes  ftdl  of  fire,  which  Mar- 
tinez de  la  Rosa,  an  exile  at  London,  recalls  with 
such  deep  sighs  among  the  beauties  of  the  north.  I 
passed  between  the  carriages,  out  through  the 
crowd,  drawing  upon  myself  some  oaths,  which  I 
immediately  put  down  in  my  note-book,  and  hastily 
crossing  two  or  three  little  streets,  I  emerged  on  the 
square  of  San  Salvador,  in  front  of  the  Cathedral 
from  which  it  takes  its  name  and  which  is  also  called 
El  Seo,  and  is  richer  and  more  magnificent  than 
Nuest7'a  Sefiora  del  Pilar. 

The  Greco-Roman  facade,  although  of  majestic 
proportions,  and  the  high, light  tower  do  not  prepare 
one  in  the  least  for  the  superb  spectacle  which  the 
interior  offers.  I  entered  and  found  myself  im- 
mersed in  gloom  ;  for  an  instant  the  outlines  of  the 
edifice  were  hidden  from  me  ;  I  saw  nothing  but  a 
few  rays  of  pale  light,  broken  here  and  there  by 
the  columns  and  arches.  Then,  little  by  little,  I 
distinguished  five  naves,  divided  by  five  aisles  of 
beautiful  Gothic  pilasters,  the  distant  walls,  and  a 
long  series  of  lateral  chapels,  all  of  which  filled  me 
with  astonishment.  It  was  the  first  cathedral  that 
corresponded  with  the  idea  I  had  formed  of  varied 
and  imposing  and  marvellously-rich  Spanish  cathe- 
drals. The  largest  chapel,  surmounted  by  a  vast 
Gothic  cupola  in  the  form  of  a  tiara,  contains  in 
itself  the  riches  of  a  great  church  ;  the  high  altar  is 
alabaster,    covered   with    roses,    volutes,  and    ara- 


48  SPAIN, 

besques  ;  the  roof  ornamented  with  statues  ;  at  the 
right  and  left,  tombs  and  urns  of  princes  ;  in  a 
corner,  the  chair  upon  which  the  kings  of  Arragon 
sat  to  receive  their  consecration.  The  choir  rises 
in  the  centre  of  the  nave,  and  is  a  mountain  of 
riches.  Its  outer  circuit,  upon  which  open  some 
little  chapels,  presented  such  an  incredible  variety 
of  statuettes,  small  columns,  bas-reliefs,  frieses,  and 
precious  stones,  that  one  would  need  to  spend  a 
day  there  in  order  to  say  something  at  least  had 
been  seen.  The  pilasters  of  the  outer  aisles,  and  the 
arches  which  curve  over  the  chapels,  are  overloaded 
from  foundation  to  ceiling  with  statues  (some  large 
enough  to  support  the  edifice  on  their  shoulders), 
emblems,  sculptures,  and  ornaments  of  every  shape 
and  size.  In  the  chapels  there  are  a  profusion  of 
statues,  rich  altars,  regal  tombs,  busts,  and  pictures, 
which,  immersed  as  they  are  in  a  half  darkness,  only- 
offer  to  the  o^lance  a  confusion  of  colors,  sflitterine  and 
vague  forms,  among  which  the  eye  loses  itself,  and 
the  imagination  grows  weary.  After  much  running 
hither  and  thither,  with  note-book  open  and  pencil  in 
^hand,  taking  notes  and  sketchini^,  my  head  gfew  con- 
fused ;  I  tore  out  the  arabesqued  leaves,  promised  my- 
self not  to  write  one  word,  left  the  church,  and  began 
wandering  about  the  city,  without  seeing  anything 
for  a  half  hour  but  lonof  dark  aisles  and  statues 
gleammg  at  the  end  of  mysterious  chapels. 

There  are  moments  when  the  gayest  and  most 
impassioned  tourist,  wandering  through  the  streets 
of  an  unknown  city,  is  suddenly  seized  by  such  a 
profound  feeling  of  ennui  that  if  he  could,  by  the 
utterance  of  a  word,  fly  back  to  his  home  among  his 
own  family  with  the  rapidity  of  a  genii  of  the 
"  Thousand  and  One  Niirhts,"  he  would  utter  that 


SARAGOSSA.  49 

word  with  a  burst  of  joy.  I  was  attacked  with  just 
such  a  feehng  as  I  was  passing  through  some  un- 
known httle  street  far  from  the  centre  of  the  town, 
and  was  almost  terrified  by  it.  I  recalled  with  great 
haste  to  my  mind  all  the  pictures  of  Madrid,  Seville, 
and  Granada,  to  rouse  myself,  and  reawaken  my 
curiosity  and  desire  ;  but  these  pictures  seemed  pale 
and  lifeless  to  me.  I  was  carried  back  in  thoueht 
to  my  home,  during  the  few  days  previous  to  my 
departure,  v/hen  I  was  possessed  with  the  fever  for 
travel  and  could  hardly  await  the  hour  for  starting 
forth  ;  yet  this  thought  only  served  to  increase  my 
sadness.  The  idea  of  still  having  to  see  so  many 
new  cities,  of  having  to  pass  so  many  nights  in 
hotels,  of  having  to  be  so  long  among  strangers, 
depressed  me.  I  asked  myself  how  I  could  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  leave  home  ;  it  seemed  to  me 
suddenly  as  if  I  had  gone  far,  far  away  from  my 
country,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  a  desert  alone  and 
forgotten  by  all.  I  looked  around,  the  street  was 
solitary,  I  felt  a  chill  at  my  heart,  and  the  tears 
almost  came  to  my  eyes  :  "I  cannot  stay  here," 
I  said  to  myself,  "  I  shall  die  of  melancholy  !  I  must 
get  back  to  Italy  !"  I  had  not  finished  saying  these 
words,  when  I  almost  burst  out  into  a  mad  laugh  ; 
at  that  moment  everything  resumed  life  and  splendor 
in  my  eyes  ;  I  thought  of  the  Castiles  and  Andalu- 
sia with  a  kind  of  frantic  joy,  and  shaking  my  head 
in  a  sort  of  pity  for  that  passing  discomfiture,  I 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  went  on  gayer  than' before. 

It  was  the  last  day  but  one  of  carnival  ;  through  the 
principal  streets,  toward  evening,  one  saw  a  coming 
and  going  of  maskers,  carriages,  bands  of  young  men, 
large  families  with  children,  nurses,  young  girls,  two 
by  two;  but  no  disagreeable  noise,  no  broken  songs  of 


50  SPAIN. 

the  intoxicated,  no  crushing  and  crowding  disturbed 
one.  From  time  to  time,  one  felt  a  Hght  touch  at 
the  elbow,  but  light  enough  to  seem  the  sign  of  a 
friend  who  wished  to  indicate  his  presence,  rather 
than  the  blow  of  a  careless  passer-by  ;  and  with 
this  touch  on  the  elbow,  the  sound  of  voices  so 
much  sweeter  than  the  cries  uttered  by  the  Sara- 
gossan  women  of  old  from  the  windows  of  the  tot- 
tering houses,  and  more  burning  than  the  boiling 
oil  which  they  poured  down  upon .  the  invaders ! 
Oh  these  were  not  the  times  of  which  a  Saragossan 
priest  told  me  a  few  days  ago  at  Turin,  when  he  as- 
sured me  that  in  seven  years  he  had  never  received 
the  confession  of  one  mortal  sin  ! 

That  evening  at  the  hotel  I  saw  a  half-cracked 
Frenchman  whose  equal  could  not  be  found,  I  am 
sure,  under  the  whole  vault  of  heaven.  He  was  a 
man  about  forty,  with  one  of  those  weak  faces  which 
seemed  to  say  :  "  Betray  me,  cheat  me  "  ;  a  mer- 
chant, in  easy  circumstances,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
who  had  just  arrived  from  Barcelona  and  was  to 
leave  the  following  day  for  St.  Sebastian.  I  found 
him  in  the  dining-room,  recounting  his  affairs  to  a 
circle  of  travellers  who  were  shoutino;  with  laucrhter. 
I  joined  the  circle  and  heard  the  story  too.  The 
man  was  a  native  of  Bordeaux  and  had  been  living 
for  four  years  at  Barcelona.  He  had  left  France, 
because  his  wife  had  run  away  from  him  with  the 
n^licst  man  in  tozvn,  leavino-  four  children  on  his 
hands.  He  had  never  received  any  news  from  her 
since  the  day  of  her  flight  ;  some  said  she  had  gone 
to  America,  some  to  Asia,  and  some  to  Africa,  but 
they  had  only  been  conjectures  without  any  founda- 
tion ;  for  four  years  he  had  looked  upon  her  as 
dead.     One  fine   dav  at   Barcelona  he  was   dininof 


SAJiAGOSSA.  51 

with  a  friend  from  Marseilles  who  said  to  him  (and 
It  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  the  comical  dignity 
with  which  he  told  the  story)  :  "  My  friend,  one  of 
these  days  I  wish  to  go  to  St.  Sebastian." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  amuse  myself." 

"  Love  affairs,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes — that  is — I'll  tell  you  :  It  really  Is  not  a 
love  affair,  because  in  love  affairs  I  like  to  be  num- 
ber one  ;  it  's  a  caprice.  Pretty  woman,  though. 
Why,  no  later  than  day  before  yesterday  I  received 
a  letter  ;  I  did  not  wish  to  go  ;  but  there  are  so  many 
C07nes  and  /  expect  yozts,  and  my  friend,  and  dear 
friend,  that  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  tempted." 
Saying  which  he  handed  his  guest  the  letter  with  a 
grin  of  Don-Juan-like  pride. 

The  merchant  takes  it,  opens  it,  and  reads  : 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  it  's  my  wife ! "  and 
without  saying  another  word  he  leaves  his  friend, 
runs  home  to  get  his  valise,  and  away  he  goes  to 
the  station.  When  I  entered  the  dining-room,  he 
had  already  shown  the  letter  to  all  present,  and, 
stretched  out  on  the  table,  so  that  every  one  could 
see  them,  were  his  certificate  of  baptism,  certificate 
of  marriage,  and  other  papers  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  in  case  his  wife  did  not  wish  to  recoo^nize 
him. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ?  "  all  asked 
in  one  voice. 

"  I  shall  not  harm  her,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  ; 
there  will  be  no  blood-shedding,  but  there  will  be  a 
punishment  more  terrible  still." 

"  What  then  ?  "  asked  his  auditors. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  repeated  the  French- 
man  with  the  greatest  gravity,  and,  drawing  from 


52  SPAIN. 

his  pocket  an  enormous  pair  of  shears,  he  added 
solemnly  :  "  I  am  going  to  cut  off  her  hair  and  eye- 
lashes !  " 

Every  one  shouted  with  laughter. 

"  Messieurs,"  cried  the  injured  husband  ;  "  I  have 
said  it,  and  I  shall  keep  my  word  ;  if  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  finding  you  here  on  my  return,  I  shall 
make  it  my  duty  to  present  you  her  wig." 

Here  followed  a  tumult  of  laughter  and  applause, 
without  the  Frenchman's  losing  for  one  moment  his 
tragical  expression  of  face. 

"  But  if  you  find  a  Spaniard  in  the  house?  "  asked 
some  one. 

"  I  shall  put  him  out  of  the  window!"  he  replied. 

"  But  if  there  were  many  ?  " 

"  Everybody  out  of  the  window." 

"  But  you  will  create  a  scandal,  the  neighbors, 
gens  d'  armes,  and  people  will  gather !  " 

"  And  I,"  shrieked  the  terrible  man,  striking  him- 
self on  the  chest,  "  I  will  put  out  of  the  window  the 
neighbors,  gens  d'  armes,  people,  and  the  entire  city, 
if  it  is  necessary  !  " 

So  he  continued  to  boast,  o-esticulatine  with  the 
letter  in  one  hand  and  the  shears  in  the  other, 
amid  the  uncontrollable  laughter  of  the  travellers. 

Vivir  para  ver,  live  to  see,  sa)^s  a  Spanish  prov- 
erb ;  but  it  ought  to  have  run  viajar  (travel),  for  it 
seems  as  if  one  encountered  such  originals  only  in 
hotels  and  railways.  Who  knows  how  this  affair 
ended  .'* 

Upon  entering  my  room  I  asked  the  waiter  what 
those  two  things  were  which  I  had  observed,  since 
the  night  of  my  arrival,  hanging  upon  the  wall,  and 
which  seemed  to  have  some  pretension  to  being 
portraits. 


SARAGOSSA.  53 

"  Nothing  less,  sir,  than  the  Argensola  brothers," 
Arragonese,  natives  of  Barbastro,  "two  of  the  most 
famous  poets  of  Spain  !  " 

And  these  were  really  the  Argensola  brothers, 
genuine  literary  twins,  who  had  the  same  passion, 
studied  the  same  things,  wrote  in  the  same  style — so 
pure,  grave,  and  polished, — forming  a  bulwark  with  all 
their  powers  against  the  torrent  of  bad  taste  which 
began  to  invade,  in  their  day  (at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century),  all  Spanish  literature.  One 
died  at  Naples,  as  secretary  of  the  Viceroy  ;  the 
other  at  Tarragona,  a  priest ;  and  they  left,  both  of 
them,  a  dear  and  honored  name,  to  which  Cervantes 
and  Lopez  de  la  Veg^a  added  the  splendid  seal  of  their 
praise.  The  sonnets  of  the  Argensolas  are  num- 
bered among  the  most  beautiful  in  Spanish  litera- 
ture, for  their  clearness  of  thought  and  dignity  of  ex- 
pression. Then  there  is  one,  of  Lupercio  Leonardo, 
which  all  know  by  heart,  and  the  close  of  which 
ministers  often  quote  in  response  to  the  philippics 
of  the  orators  of  the  Left ;  I  add  it  in  the  hope  that 
it  may  serve  some  of  my  readers  as  a  retort  to 
friends  who  reprove  them  for  being  in  love,  like  the 
poet,  with  a  ivoman  who  resorted  to  rouge,  etc.''' 

"  First  of  all  I  wish  to  confess,  oh  Sir  John,  that 
the  wdiite  and  carmine  of  Dona  Elvira  only  belong 
to  her  because  of  the  money  with  which  she  pur- 
chased them  ;  but  I  wish  that  you  would  confess  in 
your  turn  that  the  beauty  of  her  feigning  is  so  per- 
fect that  no  beauty  of  a  real  face  can  compare 
with  hers.  But  why  should  I  trouble  myself  about 
such  a  deception,  if  it  is  known  that  nature  deceives 
us  all  in  the  same  manner?  And  in  fact,  that  blue 
sky  which  we  all  see,  is  neither  sky  nor  blue.  '^  * 
What  a  pity  that  so  much  beauty  should  not  be 
truth  !  " 

'-'  ;'ee  Appendix  for  original. 


54  SPAIN. 

The  following  morning  I  wished  to  indulge  in  an 
amusement  similar  to  that  which  Rousseau  enjoyed 
in  watching  the  flight  of  the  flies, — the  pleasure  of 
roaming  about  the  streets  at  will,  stopping  to  look 
at  the  most  insignificant  things,  as  we  do  in  the 
street  at  home  when  we  are  waiting  for  a  friend. 
Having  visited  several  public  buildings,  among 
them  the  palace  of  the  Bourse,  which  contains 
an  immense  hall  formed  of  twenty-four  columns, 
each  one  ornamented  with  four  shields  bearing  the 
coats  of  arms  of  Saragossa,  placed  on  the  four  fronts 
of  the  capital  ;  having  visited  the  old  church  of 
Santiago  and  the  palace  of  the  Archbishopric,  I 
went  and  planted  myself  in  the  middle  of  the  vast 
and  gay  square  of  the  Constitzicion,  which  divides 
the  Coso,  and  receives  two  other  principal 
streets  of  the  city  ;  and  from  thence  I  started,  and 
sauntered  all  over  until  midday  with  infinite 
pleasure.  Now  I  stopped  to  look  at  a  boy  who  was 
playing  noceno,  now  I  peeped  into  a  little  student's 
cafe  out  of  curiosity,  now  I  slackened  my  pace  to 
listen  to  the  gossip  of  two  servants  at  a  street  cor- 
ner, now  flattened  my  nose  against  a  bookseller's 
windows,  now  tried  to  tease  a  poor  tobacco-woman 
by  asking  for  cigars  in  German,  now  stopped  to  hold 
a  conversation  with  a  match-vender,  here  I  bought 
a  paper,  there  begged  a  soldier  for  a  light,  further 
on  asked  my  way  of  a  girl,  and  meanwhile  thought 
over  verses  of  Argensola,  began  facetious  sonnets, 
hummed  Riego's  Hymn,  thought  of  Florence,  the 
wine  of  Malaga,  the  warnings  of  my  mother,  of 
King  Amadeus,  my  pocket-book,  of  a  thousand 
things  and  of  no  one  ;  and  I  would  not  have 
exchanged  my  fate  for  that  of  a  Grandee  of  Spain. 

Toward   evening  I   went  to  see  the  new  tower, 


SAI^AGOSSA.  55 

which  is  one  of  the  most  curious  monuments  of 
Spain.  It  is  eighty-four  metres  in  height  ;  four 
more  than  Giotto's  tower  ;  and  leans  nearly  two 
metres  and  a  half  quite  intact,  like  the  tower  of  Pisa. 
It  was  raised  in  1304  ;  some  affirm  that  it  was  built 
so,  others  that  it  was  bent  afterward ;  opinions 
differ.  It  is  octagonal  in  shape,  and  is  entirely  made 
of  brick,  but  presents  a  different  aspect  at  every 
story,  and  is  a  graceful  mingling  of  the  Gothic  and 
Moorish.  In  order  to  gain  an  entrance,  I  was 
obliged  to  go  and  ask  permission  of  some  employe 
of  the  municipality  who  lives  near  by,  and  who, 
after  looking  at  me  attentively  from  head  to  foot, 
gave    the   key  to   the    custodian,  and   said   to  me  : 

"  You  may  go,  sir." 

The  custodian  was  a  vigorous  old  man  who  climbed 
the  interminable  staircase  with  greater  rapidity  than 
I. 

"  You  will  see,  sir,  a  magnificent  view  !"  he  said. 

I  told  him  that  we  Italians  had  also  a  leaning 
tower  like  the  one  at  Saragossa.  He  turned  and, 
looking  at  me,  replied  dryly  : 

"  Ours  is  the  only  one  in  the  world  !" 

"  Oh — indeed  !  I  tell  you  that  we  have  one  too, 
and  that  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  at  Pisa, 
and  then  if  you  do  not  believe  me  read  here,  the 
guide-book  says  so  also." 

He  oave  a  o-lance  and  muttered  : 

"  It  may  be  so." 

"  May  be  so  !     You  old  piece  of  obstinacy  !" 

I  was  ready  to  give  him  a  blow  on  the  head  with 
my  book.  Finally  we  reached  the  top.  It  is  a 
maornificent  view.  Saraeossa  can  be  seen  at  a 
glance  ;  the  great  street  of  the  Coso;  the  promenade 
of  St.  Engracia;  the  suburbs,  and  just  below,  so  that  it 


56  SPAIN. 

seems  as  if  one  could  touch  them,  the  colored  cupolas 
of  Ahicstra  Scfwra  del  Pilar  ;  a  trifle  beyond,  the  bold 
tower  of  El  Sco ;  farther  away  the  famous  Ebro, 
which  winds  around  the  city  in  a  majestic  curve  ;  and 
the  broad  valley,  enamoured  (as  Cervantes  says) 
of  the  clearness  of  its  waters  and  the  gravity  of  its 
course ;  and  the  Huerba,  and  the  bridges  and 
heights,  which  recall  so  many  bloody  encounters 
and  desperate  assaults. 

The  custodian  read  on  my  face  the  thoughts 
which  were  passing  through  my  mind,  and  as  if  pur- 
suing a  conversation  which  I  had  already  begun,  he 
commenced  showing  me  the  different  points  at  which 
the  French  had  entered,  and  where  the  citizens  had 
offered  the  bravest  resistance. 

"  It  was  not  the  bomb-shells  of  the  French  which 
made  us  yield,"  he  said  ;  "  w^e  ourselves  burned  the 
houses  and  blew  them  up  with  mines  ;  it  was  the 
epidemic.  During  the  last  days  more  than  fifteen 
thousand  men  of  the  forty  thousand  who  w^ere 
defending  the  city  lay  in  the  hospitals.  We  had 
no  time  to  gather  the  wounded  or  bury  the 
dead  ;  the  ruins  of  the  houses  were  covered 
with  putrefied  bodies  which  poisoned  the  air ;  a 
third  of  the  city  buildings  were  destroyed ;  yet 
no  one  spoke  of  surrendering  ;  and  if  any  one 
had  spoken  of  it  (a  scaffold  had  been  raised  on  pur- 
pose in  each  square)  he  would  have  been  executed ; 
we  wished  to  die  on  the  barricades,  in  the  fire,  un- 
der the  debris  of  our  walls,  rather  than  bend  our 
heads.  But  when  Palafox  found  himself  at  the 
point  of  death,  when  it  was  known  that  the  French 
had  conquered  in  other  directions,  and  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  hope,  we  had  to  lay  down  our 
arms.     But  the  defenders  of  Saragossa  surrendered 


'J,  II 


-  m 


^^  J 


SARAGOSSA.  57 

with  the  honors  of  war,  and  when  that  crowd  of 
soldiers,  peasants,  monks,  and  boys,  fleshless,  ragged, 
covered  with  wounds,  and  stained  with  blood,  filed 
before  the  French  army,  the  conquerors  trembled 
with  reverence,  and  had  not  the  courage  to  rejoice  in 
their  victory.  The  last  of  our  peasants  could  carry 
his  head  higher  than  the  first  of  their  marshals. 

''  Sa7-'ao-ossa,"  and  uttering  these  words  he  was  su- 
perb,   "  /las  spit  ill  tJie  face  of  Napoleon  !  " 

I  thought  at  that  moment  of  the  history  of  Thiers, 
and  the  recollection  of  the  narration  he  gives  of  the 
takine  of  Sarao^ossa  roused  in  me  a  feelino-  of  dis- 
dain.  Not  one  o-enerous  word  for  the  sublime  hec- 
atomb  of  that  poor  people  !  Their  valor,  to  him,  is 
only  a  ferocious  fanaticism,  or  war-like  mania  of  peas- 
ants weary  of  the  tiresome  life  of  the  fields,  and  of 
monks  surfeited  with  the  solitude  of  their  cells  ; 
their  heroic  resistance  is  obstinacy  ;  their  love  of 
country  a  foolish  pride.  They  did  not  die  p07^7^  cet 
ideal  dc  grandeur  which  kept  alive  the  courage  of 
the  imperial  soldiers !  As  if  liberty,  justice,  the 
honor  of  a  people,  were  not  something  grander  than 
the  ambition  of  an  emperor,  who  assaults  it  by 
treason  and  seeks  to  govern  it  with  violence! 
*  *  *  The  sun  was  setting,  the  steeples  and 
towers  of  Saragossa  were  illuminated  by  its  last 
rays,  the  sky  was  very  clear  ;  I  gave  one  more 
glance  around  me  to  impress  upon  my  memory  the 
aspect  of  the  city  and  the  country,  and,  before  turn- 
ing to  descend  the  stairs,  I  said  to  the  custodian, 
who  was  looking  at  me  with  an  air  of  benevolent 
curiosity  : 

"  Tell  the  strangers  who  shall  come  from  this 
time  forth  to  visit  the  tower  that  one  day  a  young 
Italian,  a  few  hours  before  starting  for  Castile,  tak- 


58  SFA7X. 

ing  leave  for  the  last  time,  from  this  balcony,  of  the 
capital  of  Arragon,  bared  his  head  with  a  feeling 
of  profound  respect,  thus — and  that  not  being  able 
to  kiss  on  their  foreheads,  one  by  one,  all  the  de- 
scendants of  the  heroes  of  1809,  he  gave  a  kiss  to 
the  custodian."  And  I  gave  it,  and  he  returned  it, 
so  I  went  away  content,  and  he  too.  Let  any  one 
laugh  who  chooses! 

After  this,  I  felt  that  I  could  say  I  had  seen  Sara- 
gossa,  and  I  returned  to  the  hotel,  thinking  over  all 
my  impressions.  I  had  still  a  great  desire  to  talk 
with  some  Saragossan,  and  after  dining  I  went  to 
the  cafe,  where  I  instantly  found  a  master-builder 
and  a  shopkeeper,  who,  between  one  sip  of  choco- 
late and  another,  explained  to  me  the  political  state 
of  Spain,  and  the  most  efficacious  means  of  saving 
her.  They  thought  very  differently.  One,  the 
shopkeeper,  who  was  a  small  man  with  a  hooked 
nose  and  a  great  bunch  between  his  eyes,  wished  a 
federal  republic  without  any  delay,  that  very  even- 
ing before  going  to  bed  ;  and  made  as  a  condition, 
sine  qua  non,  for  the  prosperity  of  the  new  govern- 
ment, the  shooting  of  Serrano,  Sagasta,  and  Zorilla, 
in  order  to  convince  them  that  o?ie  cannot  joke  with 
the  Spanish  people. 

"  And  your  king,"  he  said,  turning  to  me,  "  the 
king  whom  you  sent  us, — you  will  excuse,  my  dear 
Italian,  the  frankness  with  which  I  speak, — to  your 
king  I  would  give  a  first-class  ticket  to  return  to 
Italy,  where  the  air  is  better  for  kings.  We  are 
Spanish,  my  dear  Italian,"  with  which  he  placed  a 
hand  on  my  knee.  "  We  are  Spanish  and  we  do 
not  wish  foreigners  cooked  or  uncooked!  " 

"  I  think  I  understand  your  idea,  and  you,"  I 
said,  turning  to  the  master-builder,  "  how  do  you 
think  Spain  can  be  saved  ?  " 


SARAGOSSA.  59 

"  There  is  only  one  method !  "  he  replied,  in  a 
grave  tone  ;  "  there  is  only  one  method!  A  federal 
republic — in  this  I  agree  with  my  friend, — but  with 
Don  Amadeus  as  president !  (The  friend  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders.)  I  repeat,  with  Don  Amadeus 
as  president!  He  is  the  only  man  who  can  uphold 
a  republic  ;  not  only  in  my  opinion,  but  in  the  opin- 
ion of  many  people.  Let  Don  Amadeus  make  his 
father  understand  that  a  monarchy  does  not  please 
here  ;  let  him  call  to  the  government  Castelar, 
Figueras,  Pi  y  Margal ;  let  him  proclaim  the  repub- 
lic, have  himself  elected  president,  and  cry  to  Spain  : 
'  Gentlemen,  now  I  am  commanding,  and  if  any  one 
interferes  there  will  be  blows ! '  Then  we  shall 
have  true  liberty." 

The  shopkeeper,  who  did  not  believe  that  true 
liberty  consisted  in  receiving  blows,  protested  ;  the 
other  replied,  and  the  dispute  lasted  for  a  time.  We 
then  began  talking  about  the  queen,  and  the  master- 
builder  declared  that,  although  he  was  a  republican, 
he  had  a  profound  respect  and  warm  admiration  for 
Dona  Victoria. 

"  She  has  a  o-ood  deal  here,"  he  said,  touchino-  his 
forehead  with  his  finder.  "  Is  it  true  that  she  un- 
derstands  Greek  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"   I  replied. 

"  Do  you  hear  that?  "  he  asked  of  his  neighbor. 
"  Yes,"  muttered  the  shopkeeper,  "  but  you  don't 
govern  Spain  with  Greek,  however  !  " 

He  admitted,  nevertheless,  that  in  having  a  queen 
it  was  desirable  to  have  a  clever  and  well  educated 
one,  who  should  show  herself  worthy  of  the  throne 
of  Isabella  the  Catholic,  whom,  as  every  one  knows, 
knew  as  much  Latin  as  a  professor,  rather  than 
one  of  those  light-headed  queens  who  had  no  head 


6o  SPAIN. 

for  anything  but  fetes  and  favorites.  In  a  word, 
he  did  not  wish  to  see  the  house  of  Savoy  in  Spain ; 
but  if  anything  could  make  him  regard  it  with  favor, 
it  would  be  the  queen's  Greek.  What  a  gallant 
republican ! 

There  is,  however,  in  this  people  a  generosity  of 
heart  and  a  vigor  of  mind  which  justifies  their  hon- 
orable reputation.  The  Arragonese  is  respected  in 
Spain.  The  people  of  Madrid,  who  find  fault  with 
the  Spanish  of  all  the  provinces,  who  call  the  Cata- 
lans rough,  the  Andalusians  vain,  the  Valencians 
ferocious,  the  Galicians  miserable,  and  the  Basques 
ignorant,  treat  with  a  little  more  reserve  the  proud 
sons  of  Ar/agon,  who  in  the  nineteenth  century 
wrote  with  their  own  blood  the  most  glorious  page 
in  the  history  of  Spain.  The  name  of  Sarragossa 
sounds  to  the  people  like  a  cry  of  liberty,  and  to  the 
army  like  a  cry  of  war.  But  since  there  is  no  rose 
without  a  thorn,  this  noble  province  is  also  a  hot-bed 
of  restless  demagogues,  headquarters  of  guerrillas,  of 
tribes  of  hot-headed  people,  who  give  all  the  gov- 
ernments plenty  to  do.  The  government  is  obliged 
to  caress  Arragon  as  it  would  a  gloomy,  fiery  son, 
who,  if  beaten,  is  capable  of  blowing  up  the  house. 

The  entrance  of  Kinof  Amadeus  into  Saraeossa, 
and  the  short  stay  he  made  there  in  1871,  was  the 
occasion  of  many  deeds  which  merit  being  narrated, 
not  alone  because  they  refer  to  the  prince,  but  be- 
cause they  are  the  eloquent  manifestations  of  the 
character  of  the  people.  And  first  of  all,  the  address 
of  the  mayor,  of  which  so  much  was  heard  in  and 
out  of  Spain,  and  which  will  remain  among  the  tra- 
ditions of  Saragossa  as  a  classical  example  of  repub- 
lican audacity.  The  king  arrived,  toward  evening, 
at  the  railway  station,  whither  the  representatives  of 


SARAGOSSA.  6 1 

many  municipalities,  associations,  military  and  civil 
bodies  from  the  various  cities  of  Arragon,  accom- 
panied by  an  immense  crowd,  had  come  to  receive 
him.  After  the  usual  shouts  and  applause  there  was 
a  silence,  and  the  alcaid  of  Saragossa  presented 
himself  to  the  king  and  read,  in  an  emphatic  voice, 
the  followino-  address  : 

"Sire!  it  is  not  my  modest  personality,  it  is  not 
the  man  of  profound  republican  convictions,  but  the 
alcaid  of  Saragossa,  invested  with  the  sacred  uni- 
versal suffrage,  he  who,  from  an  unavoidable  duty, 
presents  himself  to  you  and  places  himself  at  your 
disposal.  You  are  about  to  enter  the  precincts  of  a 
city  which,  satiated  with  glory,  always  bears  the  title 
of  heroism  ;  a  city  which,  when  the  national  integrity 
was  in  danger,  proved  a  modern  Numanzia,  a  city 
which  humiliated  the  armies  of  Napoleon  even  in 
their  triumphs,  etc.  Saragossa  was  the  advance 
guard  of  liberty.  No  government  seemed  to  her 
sufficiently  liberal,  etc.  In  the  breast  of  her  sons  no 
treason  was  ever  harbored,  etc.  Enter,  then,  into  the 
precinct  of  Saragossa.  If  you  have  not  the  courage 
to  do  so,  you  have  no  need  of  it,  because  the  sons 
of  the  ever  heroic  mother  are  openly  valorous  and 
incapable  of  treason.  There  is  no  shield,  no  army 
more  prompt  with  which  to  defend,  at  this  moment, 
your  person  than  the  fealty  of  the  descendants  of 
Palafox,  since  even  their  enemies  find  a  sacred 
refuge  under  Sarragossan  roofs.  Think  and  medi- 
tate that  if  you  constantly  follow  the  road  of  justice, 
if  you  make  every  one  observe  the  laws  of  strictest 
morality,  if  you  protect  the  producer  who  up  to  this 
time  has  given  so  much  and  received  so  little,  if  you 
sustain  the  truth  of  suffrage,  if  Saragossa  and  Spain 
shall  owe   you   one  of  these  days  the  fulfilment  of 


62  SPAIN. 

the  sacred  aspirations  of  the  majority  of  this  great 
people  whom  you  have  come  to  Vwo^n, then,  perhaps, 
you  will  be  adorned  zvith  a  7nore  splendid  title  than 
that  of  king.  You  may  be  the  first  citizen  of  the 
nation,  and  the  most  beloved  in  Saragossa,  and  the 
Spanish  republic  will  owe. to  you  her  complete  hap- 
piness ! " 

To  this  address,  which,  in  the  end,  really  signified  : 
"  We  do  not  recognize  you  as  king  ;  but  pray  come 
among  us,  and  we  will  not  murder  you,  because  he- 
roes do  not  kill  in  an  underhand  way  ;  and  if  you 
will  be  brave  and  serve  us  well,  we  will  consent,  per- 
haps, to  uphold  you  as  president  of  the  republic," — 
the  king  replied,  with  a  bitter-sweet  smile,  which 
seemed  to  say  :  "  Too  much  condescension !  "•  and 
pressed  the  hand  of  the  alcaid,  to  the  astonishment 
of  all  present.  Then  he  mounted  his  horse  and  en- 
tered Saragossa.  The  people,  it  is  said,  received 
him  joyously,  and  many  ladies  threw  poetry,  flowers, 
and  doves  down  on  to  him  from  the  windows.  At 
different  points  General  Cordova  and  General  Ro- 
sell,  who  accompanied  him,  had  to  clear  the  streets 
with  their  own  horses.  While  they  were  entering 
the  Coso,  a  woman  of  the  people  dashed  forward  to 
give  him  a  memorial ;  the  king,  who  had  passed  on, 
became  aware  of  this  fact,  turned  back  and  took  it. 
Shortly  thereafter,  a  coalseller  presented  himself  and 
put  out  his  black  hand,  which  the  king  pressed.  In 
the  square  of  Santa  Engracia  he  was  received  by  a 
gay  masquerade  of  dwarfs  and  giants,  who  greeted 
fum  with  certain  traditional  dances,  amid  the  deafen- 
ing shouts  of  the  people.  Thus  he  traversed  the 
whole  city.  The  following  day  he  visited  the  Church 
of  the  Madonna  of  Pilar,  the  hospitals,  prisons,  bull- 
circus,  and  everywhere  he  was  treated  with  almost 


SARAGOSSA.  63 

monarchical  enthusiasm,  not  without  secret  annoy- 
ance   to    the  alcaid,   who    accompanied   him,     and 
who  would  have  preferred  that  the  Saragossan  people 
should  have  contented  themselves  with  the  obser- 
vance of  the  sixth  commandment:  "  Thou  shalt  not 
kill, "   without  going   beyond  the   modest  promises 
he  had  made  for  them.     The  king  had  an  agreeable 
reception  on  the  road  from  Saragossa  to  Logrono. 
At  Logrono,  amid  an  innumerable  crowd  of  peasants, 
national  guards,  women,  and  children,  he  saw  the 
venerable  General  Espartero.       Hardly    had    they 
caught  sight  of  each   other  than  they  hastened  for- 
ward ;  the  general  sought  the  king's  hand  ;  the  king 
opened  his  arms  ;  the  crowd  uttered  a  shout  of  joy. 
"  Your  majesty,"  said  the  illustrious  soldier,  in  a 
voice  full  of  emotion,  "  the  people  receive  you  with 
patriotic  enthusiasm,  because  they  see  in  their  youth- 
ful monarch  the   firmest  support  of  the  liberty  and 
independence  of  the  country,  and  are  sure  that  if  the 
enemies  of  our  future  should  try  to  disturb  it,  your 
majesty,  at  the  head  of  the  army  and  militia,  would 
know  how  to  confound  and  put  them  to  rout.     My 
feeble  health  did  not  admit  of  my  going  to  Madrid 
to  congratulate  your  majesty  and  your  august  consort 
on  your  ascension  to  the  throne  of  Ferdinand.     To- 
day I  do  so,  and  repeat  once  more  that  I  will  faith- 
fully serve  the  person  of  your  majesty  as  king  of 
Spain,  chosen  by  the  will  of  the  nation.     Your  maj- 
esty, in  this  city  I  have  a  modest  house,  and  I  offer 
it   to    you    and   beg   you    to    honor    it   with     your 
presence." 

With  these  simple  words  the  new  king  was  greeted 
by  the  old,  best-beloved,  and  most  glorious  of  his 
subjects.  A  happy  augury,  which  future  events  failed 
to  fulfil! 


64  SPAIN. 

It  was  toward  midnight  when  I  went  to  a  masked 
ball  at  a  theatre  of  medium  size  on  the  Coso,  a  short 
distance  from  the  Square  of  the  Constitution.  The 
maskers  were  few  and  miserable  ;  but  there  was  com- 
pensation for  this  in  an  immense  crowd,  of  whom 
full  a  third  were  dancing  furiously.  Aside  from  the 
language,  I  never  should  have  known  that  I  was  at 
a  masked  ball  in  a  Spanish  theatre,  rather  than  at 
one  in  Italy  ;  for  I  seemed  to  see  just  the  same  faces. 
There  was  the  usual  handlino-,  license  of  words  and 
movements,  the  same  degeneration  of  a  ball  into  a 
loud  and  unbridled  revelry.  Of  the  hundred  couples 
who  passed  me  in  dancing,  only  one  is  impressed 
upon  my  memory  :  a  young  man  of  twenty,  tall, 
slender,  light,  with  great  black  eyes  ;  and  a  girl 
about  the  same  age,  dark  as  an  Andalusian  ;  both  of 
them  stately  and  handsome,  dressed  in  an  old  Ar- 
ragonese  costume,  tightly  encircled,  cheek  to  cheek, 
as  if  one  wished  to  catch  the  other's  breath,  rosy  as 
two  pinks  and  beaming  with  joy.  They  passed  in 
the  midst  of  the  crowd,  casting  around  them  a  dis- 
dainful look,  and  a  thousand  eyes  accompanied  them, 
followed  by  a  deep  murmur  of  admiration  and  envy. 
On  coming  out  of  the  theatre,  I  stopped  a  moment 
at  the  door  to  see  them  pass,  and  then  returned  to 
the  hotel  alone  and  melancholy.  The  following 
morning,  before  daybreak,  I  left  for  old  Castile. 


CHAPTER  III. 


BURGOS. 


IN  going  from  Saragossa  to  Burgos,  the  capital  of 
old  Castile,  one  must  ascend  all  the  great  val- 
ley of  the  Ebro,  crossing  a  portion  of  Arragon, 
and  a  part  of  Navarre,  as  far  as  the  city  of  Mi- 
randa, situated  on  the  French  road,  which  passes 
through  San  Sebastian  and  Bayonne.  The  country 
is  full  of  historical  recollections,  ruins,  monuments, 
and  famous  names  ;  every  village  recalls  a  batde, 
every  province  a  war.  At  Tudela  the  French  routed 
General  Castanos  ;  at  Calahorra  Sertorius  resisted 
Pompey  ;  at  Navarette  Henry,  Count  of  Transtam- 
are  was  conquered  by  Peter  the  Cruel  ;  one  sees 
vestiges  of  the  city  Egon  ad  Agoncillo,  the  ruins  of 
a  Roman  acqueduct  at  Alcanadre,  and  the  remains 
of  an  Arab  bridge  at  Logrono,  so  that  the  mind  is 
wearied  in  trying  to  remember  the  history  of  so 
many  centuries  and  so  many  people,  and  the  eye  is 
wearied  with  the  mind.  The  aspect  of  the  country 
varies  at  every  moment.  Near  Saragossa  are  green 
fields  scattered  with  houses,  winding  paths,  on  which 
you  see  groups  of  peasants  enveloped  in  their  varie- 
gated shawls,  together  with  carts  and  beasts  of 
burden.  Further  on  there  are  only  vast  undulating 
plains,  which  are  barren  and  dried,  without  a  tree, 
house,  or  path  ;  where  one  sees  nothing  from  mile  to 

65 


66  SPAIN. 

mile  but  a  herd,  herdsman,  and  hut ;  or  some  small 
village,  composed  of  low  dirt-colored  houses,  which 
one  almost  confuses  with  the  ground  ;  rather  groups 
of  hovels  than  villages, — real  representatives  of  mis- 
ery and  squalor.  The  Ebro  winds  in  great  curves 
along  the  road,  now  quite  near,  so  that  it  seems  as 
if  the  train  would  dive  into  it,  now  far  away,  like  a 
stream  of  silver,  that  appears  and  disappears  among 
the  elevations  of  ground  and  bushes  on  the  banks. 
In  the  distance  one  sees  a  chain  of  blue  mountains, 
and  beyond  them  the  white  summits  of  the  Pyrenees. 
Near  Tudela  is  a  canal ;  after  passing  Custe- 
jon  the  country  becomes  verdant  ;  and  as  one  goes 
on,  the  arid  plains  alternate  with  olive  trees,  and 
some  streaks  of  vivid  green  break  here  and  there 
the  dry  yellowish  look  of  the  abandoned  fields.  On 
the  tops  of  the  distant  hills  appear  the  ruins  of  enor- 
mous castles,  surmounted  by  broken,  shattered,  and 
corroded  towers,  resembling  the  great  torsos  of 
prostrate  giants  who  are  still  menacing. 

At  every  station  of  the  railway  I  bought  a  news- 
paper ;  before  accomplishing  half  of  my  journey  I 
had  a  stack  of  them  :  newspapers  from  Madrid  and 
Arragon,  large  and  small,  black  and  red  ;  no  one  of 
them,  unfortunately,  in  favor  of  Don  Amadeus.  I 
say  unfortunately,  because  in  reading  newspapers  in 
those  days  one  was  sorely  tempted  to  turn  his  back 
on  Madrid,  and  return  home.  From  the  first  to  the 
last  column  they  were  filled  with  insults,  impreca- 
tions, and  threats  against  Italy  ;  stones  about  our  king, 
ridiculous  things  about  the  ministers,  and  rage  against 
our  army  ;  all  founded  on  the  rumor,  then  current, 
of  an  approaching  war,  in  which  Italy  and  Germany, 
allied,  would  attack  France  and  Spain,  in  order  to  de- 
stroy Catholicism,  the  everlasting  enemy  of  both,  to 


BURGOS.  ^7 

place  on  the  throne  of  St.  Louis  the  Duke  of  Genoa, 
and  secure  the  throne  of  Philip  II  to  the  Duke  of 
Aosta.  There  were  threats  in  the  leading  articles, 
in  the  appendix,  among  the  news  items,  in  prose,  in 
verse,  in  the  illustrations,  in  critical  letters,  and  long 
rows  of  dots  ;  dialogues  between  father  and  son,  the 
one  from  Rome,  the  other  from  Madrid,  the  former 
asking  : 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

The  latter  replying  : 

"  Shoot !  " — from  time  to  time  :  "  Let  them 
come!  We  are  ready!  We  are  always  the  Spain 
of  1808  ;  the  conquerors  of  the  army  of  Napoleon 
fear  neither  the  grimaces  of  Emperor  William's 
Uhlans,  nor  the  clamor  of  Victor  Emanuel's  sharp- 
shooters." 

Then  Don  Amadeus  was  designated  as  the  poor 
child,  the  Italian  army  as  a  troupe  of  ballet  dancers 
and  singers,  the  Italians  in  Spain  invited  to  leave 
with  the  hardly  courteous  warning  :  "  Italians  to  the 
train  ;"  in  fact  there  was  something  to  supply  every 
possible  demand.  I  confess  that,  at  first,  I  was  a 
litde  disturbed  by  this  ;  I  fancied  that  at  Madrid  the 
Italians  were  pointed  at  in  the  streets ;  I  remem- 
bered the  letter  received  at  Genoa  ;  repeated  to  my- 
self thus  :  "  Italians  to  the  train!  "  as  a  counsel  that 
deserved  serious  meditation  ;  I  looked  with  sus- 
picion at  the  travellers  who  entered  the  carriage,  the 
railroad  officials,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that,  in  seeing 
me  at  first,  they  would  all  say :  "  There  is  an  Italian 
emissary  ;  let  us  send  him  to  keep  company  with 
General  Prim !  " 

On  approaching  Miranda,  the  road  enters  a  moun- 
tainous country,  varied  and  picturesque  ;  from  which, 
on  any  side  you  looked,  nothing  is  to  be  seen,  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  but  grayish  rocks,  which 


68  SPAIN. 

give  the  landscape  the  appearance  of  a  sea  petrified 
in  a  tempest.  It  is  a  country  full  of  wild  beauty, 
solitary  as  a  desert,  silent  as  an  iceberg,  which  ap- 
pears to  the  fancy  like  an  uninhabited  planet,  and 
rouses  in  one  a  mingled  feeling  of  sadness  and  fear. 
The  train  passes  between  the  walls  of  pointed,  hol- 
lowed, crested  rocks,  worn  into  every  shape  and 
form,  so  that  it  seems  as  if  a  crowd  of  stone-cutters 
had  been  at  work  on  them  for  a  lifetime,  cuttinof 
blindly  here  and  there  to  see  who  would  leave  the 
most  capricious  traces.  The  road  then  emerges 
into  a  vast  plain,  filled  with  poplars,  in  which  rises 
Miranda, 

The  station  is  at  a  great  distance  from  the  city, 
and  I  was  oblio^ed  to  wait  in  a  cafe  until  nicrht  for 
the  train  to  Madrid.  For  three  hours  I  had  no  other 
society  than  that  of  two  custom-house  guards  (called 
in  Spain  carabineros),  dressed  in  a  severe  uniform, 
with  dagger,  pistols,  and  a  gun  slung  over  the  shoul- 
der. At  every  station  there  are  two  of  them.  The 
first  time  I  saw  the  muzzles  of  their  carbines  at 
the  carriage  window,  I  fancied  that  they  had  come 
to  arrest  some  one,  perhaps  *  *  *  and  I  put 
my  hand  almost  involuntarily  on  my  passport.  They 
are  handsome  young  men,  bold  and  courteous,  with 
whom  the  traveller  who  is  waiting  may  entertain 
himself  agreeably  in  talking  of  Carlists  and  smug- 
gling, as  I  did,  to  the  great  advantage  of  my  Spanish 
vocabulary.  Toward  evening  a  Mirandese,  a  man 
of  fifty,  an  employe,  who  was  naturally  gay  and  a 
great  talker,  arrived,  and  I  left  the  carabinei^os  to 
join  him.  He  was  the  first  Spaniard  who  talked  un- 
derstandingly  with  me  of  politics.  I  begged  him  to 
unravel  this  terrible  skein  of  parties,  of  which  I  could 
make  nothing,  and  he  was  delighted  to  do  so,  and 
gave  me  very  explicit  information  on  the  subject. 


BURGOS.  69 

"  It  is  explained  in  two  words,"  he  began  ;  "  this 
is  the  state  of  affairs  :  There  are  five  principal  par- 
ties,— the  absolutist,  the  moderate,  the  conservative, 
the  radical,  and  the  republican.    The  absolutist  is  di- 
vided into  two  bodies — the  real  Carlists  and  the  dis- 
senting ones.     The  moderate  party  into  two  :  one 
wishes  Isabella,  the  other  Don  Alphonso.    The  con- 
servative  party  into   four — keep  them  well  in  your 
mind  :  the   Canovists,   headed  by  Canovas  del  Cas- 
tillo ;  the  ex-Montpensierists,  headed  by  Rios  Rosas ; 
thQfrcntei'izos,  headed  by  General  Serrano  ;  and  the 
historical  progressionists,  headed  by  Sagasta.     The 
radical  party  is  divided  into  four  sections  :  the  demo- 
cratic progressionists,  led  by  Zorilla  ;  the  ciinbrios, 
led  by  Martos ;  the  democrats,  led  by  Ribero ;  the 
economists,  led  by  Rodriguez.    The  republican  party 
is   divided   into    three  :    the    unionists,    headed    by 
Garcia  Ruiz  ;  the  federals,  headed  by  Figueras  ;  the 
socialists,  headed  by  Garrido.     The  socialists  divide 
twice  more  :  socialists   with  the    internazionale,  so- 
cialists without  the  internazio7iale.     Sixteen  parties 
in  all.     These  sixteen   are  subdivided  again.     Mar- 
tos wishes  to  constitute  his  party,  Candau  another, 
Moret  a  third  ;   Rios  Rosas,  Pi  y  Margall,  and  Cas- 
telar  are  each  forming  their  own  party.     There  are, 
therefore,  twenty-two  parties  ;  parties  formed  and  to 
be  formed.     Then  add  the  partisans  of  the  republic, 
with  Don  Amadeus  as  president  ;  the  partisans  of 
the  queen,  who   would  like  to  dispose  of  Don  Ama- 
deus ;  the  partisans   of  Espartero's  monarchy  ;  the 
partisans  of  the   Montpensier  monarchy  ;  they  who 
are  republicans  on  the  condition  that  Cuba  is  not  re- 
linquished ,  those  who  are  republican  on  the  condi- 
tion that  Cuba  is  relinquished  ;  those  who  have  not 
yet  renounced  the  hope  of  the  Prince  of  Hohenzol- 


70  SPAIN. 

lern  ;  those  who  desire  a  union  with  Portugal  ;  then 
you  would  have  thirty  parties.  If  you  wish  to  be  more 
exact,  you  could  subdivide  again  ;  but  it  is  better  to 
get  a  clear  idea  of  things  as  they  are.  Sagasta  leans 
toward  the  unionists,  Zorilla  depends  upon  the  re- 
publicans, Serrano  is  disposed  to  join  the  moderates, 
the  moderates  (if  occasion  offered)  would  league 
with  the  absolutists,  who,  meanwhile,  favor  the  re- 
publicans, and  these  unite  with  a  portion  of  the 
radicals  to  dispose  of  the  minister  Sagasta,  too  con- 
servative for  the  democratic  progressionists,  too  lib- 
eral for  the  unionists,  who  fear  the  federalists,  while 
the  latter  repose  no  great  faith  in  the  radicals,  who 
are  always  vibrating  between  the  democrats  and 
Sagastines.  Have  you  a  clear  idea  of  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"  As  clear  as  amber,"  I  replied,  shuddering. 

Of  the  journey  from  Miranda  to  Burgos  I  remem- 
ber as  little  as  I  would  of  the  page  of  a  book  skim- 
med over  in  bed  when  one's  eyes  are  beginning  to 
close  and  the  candle  is  burning  low,  for  I  was  nearly 
dead  with  sleep.  One  of  my  neighbors  touched  me 
from  time  to  time  to  make  me  look  out.  It  was  a 
clear  night,  the  moon  shining  brightly  ;  every  time 
I  put  my  face  to  the  window  I  saw  on  both  sides  of 
the  road  enormous  rocks  of  fanciful  shapes,  so  near 
that  it  seemed  as  if  they  would  fall  upon  the 
train  ;  they  were  as  white  as  marble,  and  so  well  il- 
luminated that  one  could  have  counted  all  their 
points,  indentations,  and  projections  as  it  it  were 
daylight. 

"  We  are  at  Pancorbo,"  said  my  neighbor  ;  "look 
on  to  that  height ;  there  stood  a  terrible  castle  which 
the  French  destroyed  in  1813.  We  are  at  Briviesca  ; 
look  :  here  John  I  of  Castile  assembled  the  General 


BURGOS.  71 

States,  who  accorded  the  title  of  Prince  of  the  As- 
turias  to  the  heir  of  the  crown.  Look  at  the  Bru- 
jola  mountain,  which  touches  the  stars!" 

He  was  one  of  those  indefatigable  cicerones  who 
would  even  talk  to  umbrellas  ;  and  always  saying 
"  look,"  he  would  hit  me  on  the  side  where  my  pocket 
was.  Finally  we  arrived  at  Burgos.  My  neighbor 
disappeared  without  taking  leave  of  me.  I  was  driven 
to  a  hotel,  and  as  I  was  on  the  point  of  paying  the 
cabman,  I  discovered  that  I  no  longer  had  a  small 
purse  containing  change  which  I  generally  carried 
in  my  overcoat.  I  thought  of  the  General  States  of 
Briviesca,  and  settled  the  matter  with  a  philosophical 
"  It  serves  me  right,"  instead  of  crying  out,  as  many 
do  on  similar  occasions  :  "  In  Heaven's  name  !  what 
sort  of  a  country  are  we  in?"  as  if  in  their  own 
land  there  were  not  dexterous  people  who  walk  off 
with  one's  portemonnaie  without  being  even  civil 
enough  to  give  one  any  historical  or  geographical 
information. 

The  hotel  where  I  stayed  was  served  by  women. 
They  were  seven  or  eight  great,  plump,  muscular, 
overgrown  children,  who  came  and  went  with  arm- 
fuls  of  mattresses  and  linen,  bent  backward  in  athletic 
attitudes,  so  very  gasping  and  brimful  of  laughter  that 
it  put  one  in  good  spirits  to  see  them.  A  hotel 
where  there  are  female  servants  is  quite  different 
from  the  ordinary  hotels  ;  the  traveller  seems  less 
strange  there,  and  goes  to  sleep  with  a  quiet  heart; 
the  women  Qrive  it  a  home-like  air,  that  almost  makes 
those  who  are  there  forget  their  solitude.  They  are 
more  thoughtful  than  men  ;  they  know  that  the  trav- 
eller is  inclined  to  melancholy,  and  it  seems  as  if  they 
wish  to  relieve  him  from  it  ;  they  smile  and  talk  in 
a  confidential  manner,  as  if  to  make  one  understand 


72  SFA  /A'. 

that  he  is  at  home  and  in  saf  j  hands ;  they 
have  something  housewifely  about  them,  so  that 
they  wait  upon  one  less  as  a  profession  than 
from  the  desire  to  make  themselves  useful  ;  they 
sew  on  your  buttons  with  an  air  of  protection  ; 
take  the  whisk  out  of  your  hand  in  a  playful 
way,  as  if  to    say  : 

"  Give  it  to  me  ;  you  are  good  for  nothing." 

They  pick  the  shreds  off  your  coat  when  you  go 
out,  and  say,  "  Oh,  poor  fellow !  "  when  you  come 
back  covered  with  mud  ;  they  recommend  you  not 
to  sleep  with  )'our  head  too  low  when  they  wish  you 
good-night ;  and  give  you  your  coffee  in  bed,  say- 
ing benevolently  to  you  : 

"  Lie  quietly  ;  don't  stir !  " 

One  of  these  maids  was  called  Beairiz,  another 
Carmdita,  and  a  third  Ampa7'o  (protection),  all  hav- 
ing that  ponderous  mountain  beauty  which  makes 
one  exclaim  in  a  bass  voice  : 

"  What  fine-looking  creatures  !  " 

When  they  ran  through  the  corridors  the  whole 
house  shook. 

The  following  morning,  at  sunrise,  Amparo 
called  out  : 

caballero  I " 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  was  in  the  street. 
Burgos,  situated  on  the  slope  of  a  mountain,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Arlanzon,  is  an  irregular  city  of 
tortuous  and  narrow  streets,  with  few  notable  edi- 
fices, and  the  majority  of  the  houses  not  older  than 
the  seventeenth  century.  But  it  has  one  particular 
quality  which  makes  it  curious  and  genial  ;  it  is  as 
variegated  in  color  as  one  of  those  scenes  in  a 
Marionette  theatre,  with  which  the  painters  intend 
to  call  forth  an  exclamation  of  surprise  from  the  ser- 


BURGOS.  73 

vants  in  the  pit.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  city 
colored  on  purpose  for  some  carnival  festival,  with 
the  intention  of  whitewashing-  it  afterward.  The 
houses  are  red,  yellow,  blue,  ash-color,  and  orange, 
with  ornaments  and  trimmings  of  a  thousand  other 
shades  ;  everything  is  painted  there, — the  doors, 
railings  of  the  terraces,  gratings,  cornices,  brackets, 
reliefs,  and  projections.  All  the  streets  seem  deco- 
rated as  for  a  fete  ;  at  every  turn  there  is  a  different 
sight ;  on  every  side  it  is  like  a  rivalry  of  colors,  to 
see  which  will  most  attract  the  eye.  One  is  almost 
tempted  to  laugh,  for  there  are  hues  which  never 
before  were  seen  on  walls, — green,  scarlet,  purple, 
colors  of  strange  flowers,  sauces,  sweets,  and  stuff 
for  ball-dresses.  If  there  were  an  insane  asylum  for 
painters  at  Burgos,  one  would  say  that  the  city  had 
been  colored  some  day  when  its  inmates  had  es- 
caped. In  order  to  render  the  appearance  of  the 
houses  more  graceful,  many  windows  have  a  sort  of 
covered  terrace  before  them,  enclosed  with  elass, 
like  a  case  in  a  museum  ;  one  on  every  floor  gen- 
erally, and  the  top  one  resting  on  that  below,  the 
lowest  one  on  the  show  windows  of  a  shop,  so  that 
from  the  ground  to  the  roof  they  all  look  like  one 
immense  window  of  an  enormous  establishment. 
Behind  these  panes  of  glass  one  sees,  as  if  on  exhi- 
bition, the  faces  of  girls  and  children,  flowers,  land- 
scapes, figures  on  pasteboard,  embroidered  curtains, 
lace,  and  arabesques.  If  I  had  not  known  it,  I 
should  never  have  fancied  that  a  city  so  constructed 
could  possibly  be  the  capital  of  old  Castile,  whose 
inhabitants  have  the  reputation  of  being  grave  and 
austere.  I  should  have  imagined  it  one  of  the  An- 
dalusian  cities,  where  the  people  are  gayest.  I  sup- 
posed I  should  see  a  pensive  matron,  and  I  found  a 


74  SPAIN. 

whimsical  masker.  Having  taken  two  or  three 
turns,  I  came  out  on  a  large  square  called  Plaza 
Mayor  or  Plaza  de  la  Coustitucion,  all  surrounded 
by  pomegranate-colored  houses,  with  porticoes,  and, 
in  the  centre,  a  bronze  statue  representing  Charles 
III.  I  had  not  given  a  glance  all  around  before  a 
boy  enveloped  in  a  long,  ragged  cloak,  dragging  two 
sabots,  and  waving  a  journal  in  the  air,  ran  toward 
me  : 

"  Do  you  wish  the  Imparcial,  caballero  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  want  a  ticket  for  the  Madrid  lottery  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  Would  you  like  some  smuggled  cigars  }  " 

"No!" 

"  Would  you —  ?  " 

"Well!" 

My  friend  scratched  his  chin. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  the  remains  of  the  Cid?  " 

Heavens  and  earth,  what  a  leap  !  Never  mind  ; 
let  us  go  and  see  the  remains  of  the  Cid. 

We  went  to  the  municipal  palace.  An  old  door- 
keeper made  us  cross  two  or  three  small  rooms, 
until  we  reached  one  where  we  all  three  stop- 
ped. 

"  Here  are  the  remains,"  said  the  woman,  point- 
ing to  a  species  of  coffer  placed  on  a  pedestal  in 
the  centre  of  the  room. 

I  approached  ;  she  raised  the  cover,  and  I  looked 
in.  There  were  two  compartments,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  were  piled  some  bones,  that  looked  like 
fragments  of  old  furniture. 

"  These,"  said  the  door-keeper,  "  are  the  bones  of 
the  Cid  ;    and  these,  those  of  Ximenes,  his  wife." 

I  took  the  shin  bone  of  one  and  a  rib  of  the  other 


BURGOS.  75 

in  my  hand,  looked  at  them,  felt  of  them,  turned 
them  over,  and  not  being  able  to  form  therefrom  any 
idea  of  the  physiognomies  of  husband  or  wife,  re- 
placed them.  Then  the  woman  pointed  out  a  wooden 
folding-stool,  half  in  pieces,  which  was  leaning 
against  the  wall,  and  an  inscription  which  said  that 
this  was  the  seat  upon  which  sat  the  first  judges  of 
Castile,  Nunez  Rasura,  Calvoqiie  Laiints,  great- 
grandfathers of  the  Cid,  which  is  as  much  as  to  say 
that  that  precious  piece  of  furniture  has  stood  in 
that  place  for  the  trifling  space  of  nine  hundred 
years.  I  have  it  at  this  moment  before  my  eyes, 
drawn  in  my  note-book,  in  serpentine  lines  ;  and  I 
still  seem  to  hear  the  good  woman  ask  :  "  Are  you 
a  painter  ?  "  as  I  rest  my  chin  on  my  pencil  in  order 
to  admire  my  masterpiece.  In  the  next  room  she 
showed  me  a  brazier  of  the  same  age  as  the  folding- 
stool,  and  two  portraits,  one  of  the  Cid  and  the 
other  of  Ferdinand  Gonzales,  first  Count  of  Castile, 
both  of  them  so  blurred  and  washed  out  that  they 
no  more  present  the  image  of  the  originals  than  did 
the  shin  bones  and  ribs  of  the  illustrious  consorts. 

From  the  municipal  palace  I  was  taken  to  the 
bank  of  the  Arlanzon,  into  a  spacious  square  with  a 
garden,  fountains,  and  statues,  surrounded  by  grace- 
ful new  buildings.  Beyond  the  river  is  the  suburb 
Beea,  further  still  the  barren  hills  which  dominate 
the  city,  and  at  one  end  of  the  square  the  immense 
gate  of  Santa  Maria,  which  was  erected  in  honor  of 
Charles  V,  ornamented  with  statues  of  the  Cid,  Fer- 
nando Gonzales,  and  the  emperor.  Beyond  the  gate 
appear  the  majestic  spires  of  the  cathedral.  It  was 
raining  ;  I  was  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  square,  and 
without  an  umbrella  ;  I  raised  my  eyes  to  a  window, 
and  saw  a  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  a  servant,  look- 


^6  SPAIN. 

ing-  and  laughing  at  me,  as  if  to  say,  "  Who  is  that 
idiot?  "  Finding  myself  caught  so  suddenly,  I  was 
rather  disconcerted,  but  putting  the  best  face  on  the 
matter,  I  looked  as  indifferent  as  possible,  and  walked 
off  toward  the  cathedral  by  the  shortest  road. 

The  Cathedral  of  Burgos  is  one  of  the  largest, 
handsomest,  and  richest  monuments  of  Christianity. 
Ten  times  I  wrote  these  words  in  my  head,  and  ten 
times  the  courage  to  proceed  failed  me,  so  inade- 
quate and  miserable  do  the  powers  of  my  mind 
seem  when  compared  with  the  difficulty  of  the 
description. 

The  facade  is  on  a  small  square,  from  which  one 
takes  in  at  a  glance  a  part  of  the  immense  edifice  ; 
around  the  other  side  run  narrow,  tortuous  streets, 
which  impede  the  view.  From  all  the  points  of 
the  enormous  roof  rise  slender  and  graceful  spires, 
overloaded  with  ornaments  of  dark  chalk  color,  reach- 
ing beyond  the  highest  buildings  in  the  town.  On 
the  front,  to  the  right  and  the  left  of  the  fagade,  are 
two  sharp  bell  towers,  covered  from  base  to  summit 
with  sculpture,  and  perforated,  chiselled,  and  em- 
broidered with  a  bewitching  grace  and  delicacy. 
Beyond,  toward  the  central  portion  of  the  church, 
rises  a  very  rich  tower,  covered  too  with  bas-relief 
and  friezes.  On  the  facade,  on  the  points  of  the  bell 
towers,  at  each  story,  under  all  the  arches,  on  all 
sides,  there  are  an  innumerable  multitude  of  statues 
of  angels,  martyrs,  warriors,  and  princes,  so  thickly 
set,  so  varied  in  pose,  and  standing  out  in  such  per- 
fect relief  from  the  light  portions  of  the  edifice,  that 
they  almost  present  a  lifelike  appearance,  like  a  ce- 
lestial legion  placed  there  to  guard  the  monument. 
In  raising  the  eyes  up  by  the  facade,  to  the  furthest 
point  of  the  exterior   spires,  taking  in  little  by  little 


/ 


BURGOS.  77 

all  that  harmonious  lightness  of  line  and  color,  one 
experiences  a  delicious  sensation  like  hearing  a  strain 
of  music  which  raises  itself  gradually  from  an  ex- 
pression of  devout  prayer  to  the  ecstasy  of  a  sublime 
inspiration.  Before  entering  the  church  your  imagi- 
nation wanders  far  beyond  earth. 

Enter  "■"  *  '''  The  first  emotion  that  you  ex- 
perience is  a  sudden  strengthening  of  your  faith,  if 
you  have  any,  and  a  burst  of  the  soul  toward  faith, 
if  it  be  lacking.  It  seems  impossible  that  that  im- 
mense pile  of  stone  could  be  a  vain  work  of  supersti- 
tion accomplished  by  men  ;  it  seems  as  if  it  affirmed, 
proved,  and  commanded  something ;  it  has  the  effect 
upon  you  of  a  superhuman  voice  which  cries  to  earth, 
"  I  am ! "  and  raises  and  crushes  you  at  the  same  time, 
like  a  promise  or  a  threat,  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  or  a 
clap  of  thunder.  Before  beginning  to  look  around, 
you  feel  the  need  of  revivifying  in  your  heart  the 
dying  sparks  of  divine  love ;  the  feeling  that  you  are 
a  stranger  before  that  miracle  of  boldness,  genius,  and 
labor,  humiliates  you ;  the  timid  no  which  resounds 
in  the  depths  of  your  soul,  dies  in  a  groan  under  the 
formidable  yes  which  smites  you  on  the  head.  First 
you  turn  your  eyes  vaguely  round  about  you,  look- 
ing for  the  limits  of  the  edifice,  which  the  enormous 
choir  and  pilasters  hide  from  sight.  Then  your 
glance  falls  upon  the  columns  and  high  arches,  de- 
scends, climbs,  and  runs  rapidly  over  the  numberless 
lines  which  follow  each  other,  cross,  correspond,  and 
are  lost,  like  rockets  which  flash  into  space,  up 
through  the  great  vaults ;  and  your  heart  takes 
pleasure  in  that  breathless  admiration,  as  if  all  those 
lines  issued  from  your  own  brain,  inspired  in  the  act 
of  looking  at  them  with  your  eyes ;  then  you  are 
seized  suddenly,  as  if  with  fright,  by  a  feeling  of  sad- 


78  SPAIN. 

ness  that  there  is  not  time  enough  in  which  to  con- 
template, intellect  with  which  to  understand,  and 
memory  to  retain  the  innumerable  marvels,  half  seen 
on  all  sides,  crowded  together,  piled  upon  one 
another,  and  dazzling,  which  one  would  say  came 
rather  from  the  hand  of  God,  like  a  second  creation, 
than  from  the  hand  of  man. 

The  church,  which  belongs  to  what  is  called  the 
gothic  order  at  the  time  of  the  Renaissance,  is 
divided  into  one  very  long  nave  and  two  aisles, 
crossed  by  a  transcept,  which  separates  the  choir  from 
the  high  altar.  Above  the  space  contained  between 
the  altar  and  the  choir  rises  a  cupola,  formed 
by  the  tower  which  is  seen  from  the  square.  You 
turn  your  eyes  upward,  and  stand  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  with  open  mouth  ;  it  is  a  mass  of  bas-reliefs, 
statues,  small  columns,  little  windows,  arabesques, 
suspended  arches,  and  aerial  sculpture,  harmonizing 
in  one  grand  and  lovely  design,  the  first  sight  of 
which  causes  a  tremor  and  a  smile,  like  the  sudden 
igniting,  bursting,  and  gleaming  of  magnificent  fire- 
works. A  thousand  vague  imageries  of  Paradise, 
which  cheered  our  infantile  dreams,  break  forth  to- 
gether from  the  excited  mind,  and  winging  an  upward 
flight,  like  butterflies,  go  to  rest  on  the  thousand  re- 
liefs of  the  hiorh  vault,  there  moving  and  minfrline  so 
that  your  eye  follows  them  as  if  it  really  saw  them, 
your  heart  beats,  and  a  sigh  escapes  you. 

If  in  turning  from  the  cupola  you  look  around  you,  a 
still  more  stupendous  spectacle  is  ofleredto  your  view. 
The  chapels  are  so  many  churches  in  vastness,  variety, 
and  richness.  In  every  one  is  buried  a  prince,  a 
bishop,  or  a  grandee  ;  the  tomb  is  in  the  centre,  and 
upon  it  is  a  recumbent  statue  representing  the  de- 
ceased,  his   head  resting    on    a    pillow    and   hands 


BURGOS.  79 

crossed  over  the  breast  ;  the  bishops  dressed  in 
their  most  gorgeous  robes,  the  princes  in  their  ar- 
mor, the  women  in  their  gala  costumes.  All  these 
tombs  are  covered  with  immense  cloths  which  fall 
over  the  sides  and,  taking  the  shape  of  the  raised 
portions  of  the  statues,  appear  as  if  really  covering 
the  stiffened  members  of  a  human  form.  On  every 
side  one  turns,  are  seen  in  the  distance,  among  the 
enormous  pilasters,  behind  the  rich  gratings,  in  the 
uncertain  light  that  falls  from  the  high  windows,  those 
mausoleums,  funereal  draperies,  and  those  rigid  out- 
lines of  bodies.  Approaching  the  chapels  one  is 
astonished  by  the  profusion  of  sculptures,  marbles, 
and  gold  which  ornament  the  walls,  ceilings,  and 
altars  ;  every  chapel  contains  an  army  of  angels  and 
saints  sculptured  in  marble  and  wood,  and  painted, 
gilded,  and  clothed  ;  on  whatever  portion  of  the  pave- 
ment your  eye  rests,  it  is  driven  upward  from  bas- 
relief  to  bas-relief,  niche  to  niche,  arabesque  to  ara- 
besque, painting  to  painting,  as  far  as  the  ceiling, 
and  from  the  ceiling,  by  another  chain  of  sculptures 
and  pictures,  is  led  back  to  the  floor.  On  whatever 
side  you  turn  your  face,  you  encounter  eyes  which 
are  looking  at  you,  hands  which  are  making  signs  to 
you,  clouds  which  seems  to  be  rising,  crystal  suns 
which  seem  to  tremble,  and  an  infinite  variety  of 
forms,  colors,  and  reflections  that  dazzle  your  eyes 
and  confuse  your  mind. 

A  volume  would  not  suffice  to  describe  all  the 
masterpieces  of  sculpture  and  painting  which  are 
scattered  throughout  that  immense  cathedral.  In 
the  sacristy  of  the  Chapel  of  the  High  Constables  of 
Castile  is  a  very  beautiful  Magdalen  attributed  to 
Leonardo  da  Vinci ;  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Presenta- 
tion, a  Virgin  attributed  to  Michael  Angelo  ;  in  an- 


8o  SFAIJV. 

Other,  a  Holy  Family  attributed  to  Andrea  del  Sarto. 
Of  not  one  of  these  three  pictures  is  the  painter 
really  known  ;  but  when  I  saw  the  curtain  drawn 
aside,  and  heard  those  names  uttered  in  a  reverent 
voice,  a  thrill  ran  through  me  from  head  to  foot. 
I  experienced  for  the  first  time,  in  all  its  force,  that 
feeling  of  gratitude  which  we  owe  to  great  artists 
who  have  made  the  name  of  Italy  reverend  and  dear 
to  the  whole  world  ;  I  understood,  for  the  first  time, 
that  they  are  not  only  illustrious,  but  benefactors  of 
their  country  ;  and  not  alone  by  him  who  has  suf- 
ficient intellect  to  understand  and  admire  them,  but 
also  by  him  who  may  be  blind  to  their  works,  does 
not  care  for,  or  ignores  them,  must  they  be  revered. 
Because,  to  a  man  who  is  lacking  in  sentiment  for 
the  beautiful,  national  pride  is  never  wanting,  and 
he  who  does  not  even  feel  this,  feels  at  least  the 
pride  of  his  own,  and  is  deeply  gratified  to  hear  (if 
it  be  only  a  sacristan  who  says  it)  :  "  He  was  born 
in  Italy,"  so  smiles  and  rejoices  ;  and  for  that  smile 
and  enjoyment  he  is  indebted  to  the  great  names 
which  did  not  touch  his  soul  before  he  left  the  boun- 
daries of  his  own  country.  Those  grand  names  ac- 
company and  protect  him  wherever  he  goes,  like 
inseparable  friends  ;  they  make  him  appear  less  of  a 
stranger  among  strangers,  and  shed  arc  und  his  face  a 
luminous  reflection  of  their  glory.  How  many  smiles, 
how  many  pressures  of  hand,  how  many  courteous 
words  from  unknown  people  do  we  owe  to  Raphael, 
Michael  Angelo,  Ariosto,  and  Rossini ! 

Any  one  who  wishes  to  see  this  cathedral  in  one 
day  must  pass  by  the  masterpieces.  The  chiselled 
door  which  opens  into  the  cloister,  has  the  reputa- 
tion of  being,  after  the  gates  of  the  Baptistry  at 
Florence,  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world  ;  bcliind 
the  high  altar  is  a  stupendous  bas-relief  of  Philip  of 


BURGOS.  81 

Borgogna,  representing  the  passion  of  Christ,  an  im- 
mense composition,  for  the  accompHshment  of  which 
one  would  suppose  the  lifetime  of  a  man  could  hardly 
suffice  ;  the  choir  is  a  genuine  museum  of  sculpture 
of  a  prodigious  richness  ;  the  cloister  is  full  of  tombs 
with  recumbent  statues,  and  all  around  a  profusion 
of  bas-reliefs  ;  in  the  chapels,  around  the  choir,  in 
the  rooms  of  the  sacristy,  in  fact,  everywhere,  there 
are  pictures  by  the  greatest  Spanish  artists,  statu- 
ettes, columns,  and  ornaments  ;  the  high  altar,  the  or- 
gans, the  doors,  the  staircases,  the  iron  bars, — every- 
thinof  is  erand  and  masfnificent,  and  arouses  and  sub- 
dues  at  the  same  time  one's  admiration.  But  what 
is  the  use  of  adding  word  upon  word  ?  Could  the 
most  minute  description  give  an  idea  of  the  thing  ? 
And  if  I  had  written  a  page  for  every  picture, 
statue,  or  bas-relief,  should  I  have  been  able  to 
arouse  in  the  souls  of  others  the  emotion  which  I 
experienced  ? 

The  sacristan  approached  me,  and  murmured  in 
my  ear,  as  if  he  were  revealing  a  secret : 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  tJie  Christ?  " 

"  What  Christ  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  he  replied,  "  that  is  understood,  the  famous 
om  !'' 

(Txhe  famous  Christ  of  the  Cathedral  of  Burgos, 
which  bleeds  every  Friday,  merits  a  particular  men- 
tion. The  sacristan  takes  you  into  a  mysterious 
chapel,  closes  the  shutters,  lights  the  candles  on  the 
altar,  draws  a  cord,  a  curtain  slips  aside,  and  the 
Christ  is  there.  If  you  do  not  take  flight  at  the 
first  sight,  you  have  plenty  of  courage ;  a  real  body 
on  a  cross  could  not  fill  you  with  more  horror.  It 
is  not  a  statue,  like  the  others,  of  painted  wood  ;  it 
is  of  skin,  they  say  human  flesh,  stuffed  ;    has  real 


82  SPAIN. 

hair,  eyebrows,  lashes,  and  beard  ;  the  hair  streaked 
with  blood,  the  chest,  legs,  and  hands  stained 
with  blood  too  ;  the  wounds,  which  seem  genuine, 
the  color  of  the  skin,  the  contraction  of  the  face, 
the  pose,  look, — everything  is  terribly  real  ;  you 
would  say  that  in  touching  it  one  would  feel  the 
trembling  of  the  members  and  the  heat  of  the  blood  ; 
it  seems  to  you  as  if  the  lips  moved,  and  were  about 
to  utter  a  lament ;  you  cannot  bear  the  sight  long, 
and  despite  of  yourself,  you  turn  away  your  face  and 
say  to  the  sacristan  :  "  I  have  seen  it !  " 

Alter  the  Christ  one  must  see  the  celebrated 
coffer  of  the  Cid.  It.  is  broken  and  worm-eaten, 
and  hangs  from  the  wall  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the 
sacristy.  Tradition  narrates  that  the  Cid  carried 
this  coffer  with  him  in  his  wars  against  the  I\Ioors, 
and  that  the  priests  used  it  as  an  altar  on  which  to 
celebrate  mass.  One  day,  finding  his  pockets 
empty,  the  formidable  warrior  filled  the  coffer  with 
stones  and  bits  of  iron,  had  it  carried  to  a  Jewish 
usurer,  and  said  to  him  : 

"  The  Cid  needs  some  money  ;  he  could  sell  his 
treasures,  but  does  not  wish  to  do  so  ;  give  him  the 
money  he  needs,  and  he  will  return  it  very  soon, 
with  the  interest  of  99  per  cent.,  and  he  leaves  in 
your  hands,  as  a  pledge,  this  precious  coffer,  which 
contains  his  fortune.  But  on  one  condition  :  that 
you  will  swear  to  him  not  to  open  it  until  he  has 
returned  you  what  he  owes.  There  is  a  secret 
which  can  be  known  by  none  but  God  and  myself: 
decide — " 

Whether  it  was  that  the  usurers  of  that  day  had 
more  faith  in  the  officers  of  the  army,  or  were  a 
trifle  more  stupid  than  those  of  the  present  time,  the 
fact  remains  that  the  usurer  accepted  the  proposition 


BURGOS.  83 

of  the  CId,  took  his  oath,  and  gave  the  money. 
Whether  the  Cid  paid  the  debt,  or  even  whether 
the  Jew  had  a  Htigation  about  the  matter,  is  not 
known ;  but  the  coffer  is  still  in  existence,  and  the 
sacristan  tells  you  the  story  as  a  joke,  without  sus- 
pecting for  a  moment  that  it  was  the  trick  of  a 
thorough  rascal,  rather  than  the  ingenious  joke  of 
a  facetious  man  of  honor. 

Before  leaving  the  cathedral,  you  must  have  the 
sacristan  tell  you  the  famous  legend  of  the  Papa- 
Moscas.  Papa-Moscas  is  a  puppet  of  life-size,  placed 
in  the  case  of  a  clock,  over  the  door,  inside  the 
church.  Once,  like  the  celebrated  puppets  of  the 
clock  at  Venice,  at  the  first  stroke  of  the  hour,  it 
came  out  of  its  hiding-place,  and  at  every  stroke  ut- 
tered a  cry,  and  made  an  extravagant  gesture  to  the 
great  delectation  of  the  faithful,  but  the  children 
lauehed,  and  the  relisfious  services  were  disturbed. 
A  rigorous  bishop,  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  the 
scandal,  had  some  nerve  of  Papa-Moscas  cut,  and 
since  that  time  it  has  been  mute  and  immovable. 
But  this  did  not  stop  people  at  Madrid,  throughout 
Spain,  and  elsewhere,  from  talking  of  it.  Papa-Mos- 
cas was  a  creature  of  Henry  III,  and  this  fact  gives 
rise  to  its  great  importance.  The  story  is  quite 
curious.  Henry  III,  the  king  of  chivalrous  ad- 
ventures, who  one  day  sold  his  mantle  in  order  to 
buy  something  to  eat,  used  to  go  every  day,  incog- 
nito, to  pray  in  the  cathedral.  One  morning  his 
eyes  encountered  those  of  a  young  woman  who  was 
praying  before  the  sepulchre  of  Ferdinand  Gonzales  ; 
their  glances  (as  Theophile  Gautier  would  say)  in- 
tertwined ;  the  young  girl  colored ;  the  king  followed 
her  when  she  left  the  church,  and  accompanied  her 
to  her  home.     For  many  days,  at  the  same  place 


84  SPAIN. 

and  same  hour,  they  saw  and  looked  at  each  other, 
and  displayed  their  love  and  sympathy  by  glances 
and  smiles.  The  king  always  followed  her  home, 
without  saying  one  word,  and  without  her  showing 
any  desire  that  he  should  speak  to  her.  One  morn- 
ing, on  coming  out  of  church,  the  beautiful  unknown 
let  her  handkerchief  drop ;  the  king  picked  it  up, 
hid  it  in  his  bosom,  and  offered  her  his  own.  The 
woman,  her  face  suffused  with  blushes,  took  it,  and 
wiping  away  her  tears,  disappeared.  From  that  day 
Don  Henry  never  saw  her  more.  A  year  after- 
ward, the  king,  having  lost  his  way  in  a  grove,  was 
assailed  by  six  hungry  wolves  ;  after  a  prolonged 
struggle,  he  killed  three  of  them  with  his  sword  ; 
but  his  strength  was  giving  out,  and  he  was  on  the 
point  of  being  devoured  by  the  others.  At  that 
moment  he  heard  the  discharge  of  a  gun,  and  a 
strange  cry,  which  put  the  wolves  to  flight ;  he 
turned,  and  saw  the  mysterious  woman,  who  was 
looking  fixedly  at  him,  without  being  able  to  utter 
one  word.  The  muscles  of  her  face  were  horribly 
contracted,  and,  from  time  to  time,  a  sharp  lament 
burst  from  her  chest.  In  recovering  from  his  first 
surprise,  the  king  recognized  in  that  woman  the  be- 
loved one  of  the  cathedral.  He  uttered  a  cry  of 
joy,  dashed  forward  to  embrace  her  ;  but  the  young 
girl  stopped  him,  and  exclaimed  with  a  divine  sjnile  : 

"  I  loved  the  memory  of  the  Cid  and  Ferdinand 
Gonzales,  because  my  heart  loves  all  that  is  noble 
and  generous  ;  for  this  reason  I  loved  thee  too,  but 
my  duty  prevented  me  from  consecrating  to  thee 
this  love  which  would  have  been  the  delight  of  my 
life.     Accept  the  sacrifice."     *     '^     '^' 

Saying  which  she  fell  to  the  ground  and  expired, 
without   finishing   her   sentence,    but   pressing   the 


BURGOS. 


klno-'s  handkerchief  to  her  heart.  A  year  thereafter 
thePapa-Moscas  appeared  at  the  clock  door,  for  the 
first  time,  to  announce  the  hour  ;  King  Henry  had 
had  it  made  in  honor  of  the  woman  he  loved  ;  the 
cry  of  the  Papa-Moscas  recalled  to  the  king  the  cry 
which  his  deliverer  uttered  in  the  forest  in  order  to 
frighten  the  wolves.  History  relates  that  Don 
Henry  wished  the  Papa-Moscas  to  repeat  the  wo- 
man's loving  words  ;  but  the  Moorish  artist  who 
made  the  automaton,  after  many  vain  efforts,  de- 
clared himself  incapable  of  satisfying  the  desire  of 
the  pious  monarch. 

After  hearing  the  story,  I  took  another  turn  around 
the  cathedral,  thinking,  with  sadness,  that  I  should 
never  see  it  again,  that  in  a  short  time  so  many  mar- 
vellous works  of  art  would  only  be  a  memory,  and 
that  this  memory  would  some  day  be  disturbed  and 
confused  with  others  or  lost  entirely.  A  priest  was 
preaching  in  the  pulpit  before  the  high  altar  ;  his 
voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  ;  a  crowd  of  women, 
who  were  kneeling  on  the  pavement  with  bowed 
heads  and  clasped  hands,  were  listening  to  him. 
The  preacher  was  an  old  man  of  venerable  appear- 
ance ;  he  talked  of  death,  eternal  life,  and  angels,  in 
a  gentle  tone,  gesticulating  with  every  sentence  as  if 
he  were  holding  out  his  hand  to  a  person  who  had 
fallen,  and  were  saying  :  "  Rise!  "  I  could  have  given 
him  mine,  crying  out:  "  Raise  me!"  The  Cathe- 
dral of  Burgos  is  not  as  gloomy  as  almost  all  the 
others  in  Spain  ;  it  had  calmed  my  mind  and  dis- 
posed me  quietly  to  religious  thoughts.  I  went  out 
repeating  just  above  my  breath  :  "  Raise  me  !  "  almost 
involuntarily,  turned  to  look  once  more  at  the  bold 
spires  and  graceful  bell  towers,  and,  indulging  in 
varied  fancies,  started  toward  the  heart  of  the  city. 


86  SPAIN. 

On  turning  a  corner,  I  found  myself  before  a  shop 
which  made  me  shudder.  There  are  some  Hke  it  at 
Barcelona  and  Saragossa  and  in  all  the  other  Span- 
ish cities,  in  fact ;  but  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
I  had  not  seen  them.  It  was  a  large  clean  shop, 
with  two  immense  windows  on  the  right  and  left  of 
the  door  ;  at  the  entrance  stood  a  woman  smiling  as 
she  knit ;  at  the  back,  a  boy  was  playing.  In  looking 
at  that  shop  even  the  coldest  man  would  have  shud- 
dered, and  the  gayest  would  have  been  disturbed. 
Guess  what  it  contained.  In  the  windows,  behind 
the  open  doors,  along  the  walls,  almost  up  to  the 
ceiling,  one  above  the  other  like  baskets  of  fruit, 
some  covered  with  an  embroidered  veil,  others  with 
flowers,  gilded,  chiselled,  and  painted,  were  so  many 
burial  caskets.  Inside,  those  for  men  ;  outside,  those 
for  children.  One  of  the  windows  came  in  contact, 
on  the  exterior,  with  the  window  of  a  sausage-ven- 
der, so  that  the  coffins  almost  touched  the  eggs  and 
cheese,  and  it  might  easily  occur  that  a  man  in  great 
haste,  while  thinking  he  was  going  to  buy  his  break- 
fast, mistaking  the  door,  would  stumble  in  among 
the  biers — a  mistake  little  calculated  to  sharpen  his 
appetite. 

Since  we  are  talking  of  shops,  let  us  go  into  one 
of  a  tobacco-vender,  to  see  how  they  differ  from 
ours.  In  Spain,  aside  from  the  cigarettes  and 
havana'3,  which  are  sold  in  separate  shops,  there  are 
no  other  cigars  than  those  o{  tres  citartos  (a  trifle  less 
than  three  sous),  shaped  like  our  Roman  cigars,  a 
little  thicker,  very  good  or  very  bad,  according  to 
the  make,  which  has  rather  degenerated.  The  usual 
customers,  who  are  called  in  Spain  by  the  curious 
name  of  parroqiiianos,  on  paying  something  extra, 
have  given  them  the  selected  cigars  ;    the  most  re- 


BURGOS.  ~  87 

fined  smokers,  adding  a  trifle  to  this  sum,  procure 
the  choicest  of  the  choice.  On  the  counter  there  is 
a  small  plate  containing  a  sponge,  dipped  in  water, 
to  moisten  the  postage  stamps,  and  thus  avoid  that 
everlasting  licking ;  and  in  a  corner,  a  box  for  letters 
and  printed  matter.  The  first  time  one  enters  one 
of  these  shops,  especially  when  it  is  full,  one  is  in- 
clined to  laugh,  in  seeing  the  three  or  four  men  who 
are  selline,  flineinsf  the  coins  on  to  the  counter  so 
that  they  make  them  fly  over  their  heads,  and  catch- 
ing them  in  the  air  with  the  air  of  dice  players  ;  this 
they  do  to  ascertain  by  the  sound  whether  they  are 
good,  as  so  many  counterfeits  are  in  circulation. 

The  coin  most  in  use  is  the  real,  which  equals  a 
trifle  more  than  our  five  sous  ;  four  reales  make  a 
peseta,  hv& pesetas  a  duro,  which  is  our  crown  of  blessed 
memory,  by  adding  thereto  twenty-seven  centimes  ; 
five  crowns  make  a  gold  doblon  de  Isabel.  The  peo- 
ple reckon  by  reales.  The  real  is  divided  into  eight 
ciLartos,  seventeen  ochavos,  or  thirty-four  mararedis, — 
Moorish  coins  which  have  nearly  lost  their  primitive 
form,  and  resemble  crushed  buttons  more  than  any- 
thing else.  Portugal  has  a  monetary  mint  even 
smaller  than  ours  ;  the  reis,  which  equals  nearly  half 
a  centime,  and  every  thing  is  reckoned  by  reis. 
Let  us  fancy  a  poor  traveller,  who  arrives  there 
without  knowing  of  this  peculiarity,  and  after  having 
made  an  excellent  dinner,  asks  for  the  bill,  and 
hears  the  waiter  calmly  reply — instead  of  four  lires 
— eight  hundred  reis.  How  his  hair  stands  on  end 
from  fright ! 

Before  evening  I  went  to  see  the  place  where  the 
Cid  was  born  ;  if  I  had  not  thought  of  it  myself,  the 
guides  would  have  reminded  me  of  it;  for  every- 
where I  went  they  whispered  in  my  ear  :  "  The  re- 


88  SPAIN. 

mains  of  the  Cid  ;  house  of  the  Cid  ;  monument  of 
the  Cid."  An  old  man,  majestically  enveloped  in 
his  mantle,  said  to  me  with  an  air  of  protection  : 
"  Come  with  me,  sir,"  and  made  me  climb  a  hill  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  on  whose  summit  are  still  to  be 
seen  the  ruins  of  an  enormous  castle,  the  ancient 
dwelling  of  the  King  of  Castile.  Before,reaching 
the  monument  of  the  Cid,  one  comes  to  a /triumphal 
arch,  in  Doric  style,  simple  and  graceful,  raised  by 
Philip  II,  in  honor  of  Ferdinand  Gonzales,  in  the 
same  place,  it  is  said,  where  stood  the  house  in 
which  the  famous  captain  was  born.  A  little  further 
on  one  finds  the  monument  of  the  Cid,  erected  in 
1784.  It  is  a  pilaster  of  stone,  resting  on  a  pedestal 
in  masonry,  and  surmounted  by  a  heraldic  shield, 
with  this  inscription  :  "  On  this  spot  rose  the  house 
in  which,  in  the  year  1026,  Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Vivar, 
called  the  Cid  campcador,  was  born.  He  died  at 
V^alencia,  in  1099,  and  his  body  was  carried  to  the 
monastery  of  St.  Peter  of  Cardena,  near  this  city." 
While  I  was  reading  those  words,  the  guide  related 
a  popular  legend  regarding  the  hero's  death  : 

"  When  the  Cid  died,"  he  said,  with  much  gravity, 
"  there  was  no  one  to  guard  his  remains.  A  Jew  en- 
tered the  church,  approached  the  bier,  and  said  : 
'  This  is  the  great  Cid,  whose  beard  no  one  dared 
touch  during  his  life  ;  I  will  touch  it  and  see  what  he 
can  do.'  Saying  which  he  stretched  out  his  hand, 
but  at  the  same  instant  the  corpse  seized  the  hilt  of 
his  sword  and  drew  it  out  of  its  scabbard.  The  Jew 
uttered  a  cry  and  fell  to  the  ground  half  dead  ;  the 
priests  hastened  forward,  the  Jew  was  raised,  and,  re- 
gaining his  consciousness,  related  the  miracle  ;  then 
all  turned  toward  the  Cid  and  saw  that  he  still  held 
the  hilt  of  his  sword  in  a  menacing  manner.     God 


BURGOS.  89 

did  not  wish  that  the  remains  •  of  the  great  warrior 
should  be  contaminated  by  the  hand  of  an  un- 
behever." 

As  he  finished,  he  looked  at  me,  and  seeing  that  I 
did  not  give  the  slightest  sign  of  incredulity,  he  led 
me  under  a  stone  arch,  which  must  have  been  one 
of  the  old  gates  of  Burgos,  a  few  steps  from  the 
monument,  and  pointing  to  a  horizontal  groove  in 
the  wall,  a  little  more  than  a  metre  from  the  ground, 
said  to  me  : 

"  This  is  the  measure  of  the  Cid's  arms  when  he 
was  a  young  fellow  and  came  here  to  play  with  his 
companions."  And  he  stretched  his  arms  along  the 
groove  to  show  me  how  much  longer  it  was,  then 
wished  me  to  measure,  too,  and  mine  also  was  too 
short ;  then  giving  me  a  triumphant  look,  he  started 
to  return  to  the  city.  When  we  reached  a  soli- 
tary street  he  stopped  before  the  door  of  a  church 
and  said  : 

"  This  is  the  church  of  St.  Agnes,  where  the  Cid 
made  the  King  Don  Alphonso  VI  swear  that  he  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  killing  of  his  brother,  Don 
Sancho." 

I  begged  him  to  tell  me  the  whole  story. 

"  There  were  present,"  he  continued,  "  prelates, 
cavaliers,  and  the  other  personages  of  state.  The 
Cid  placed  the  holy  Gospel  on  the  altar,  the  king 
laid  his  hand  on  it,  and  the  Cid  said  : 

"  '  King  Don  Alphonso,  you  must  swear  to  me 
that  you  are  not  stained  with  the  blood  of  King  Don 
Sancho,  my  master,  and  if  you  swear  falsely  I  shall 
pray  that  God  make  you  perish  by  the  hand  of  a 
traitorous  vassal.' 

"  The  king  said, '  Amen  ! '  but  changed  color.  Then 
the  Cid  repeated  : 


90  SPAIN. 

"  '  King  Don  Alphonso,  you  must  swear  that  you 
have  neither  ordered  nor  counselled  the  death  of 
the  king,  Don  Sancho,  my  master  ;  and  if  you  swear 
falsely  may  you  die  by  the  hand  of  a  traitorous  vas- 
sal,' and  the  king  said  '  Amen  ! '  but  changed  color  a 
second  time.  Twelve  vassals  confirmed  the  oath  of 
the  king  ;  the  Cid  wished  to  kiss  his  hand,  the  king 
would  not  permit  it,  and  hated  him  through  life  from 
that  moment." 

He  added  afterward  that  another  tradition  held 
that  the  King  Don  Alphonso  did  not  swear  upon 
the  Bible,  but  upon  the  bolt  of  the  church  door  ;  that 
for  a  long  time  travellers  came  from  every  part  of 
the  world  to  admire  that  bolt  ;  that  the  people  at- 
tributed to  it  some  supernatural  virtues,  and  that  it 
was  much  talked  of  on  all  sides,  and  gave  rise  to 
so  many  extravagant  tales  that  the  Bishop,  Don 
Fray  Pascual  was  obliged  to  have  it  taken  away,  as 
it  created  a  perilous  rivalry  between  the  door  and 
the  high  altar.  The  guide  said  nothing  more,  but 
if  one  were  to  collect  all  the  traditions  about  the  Cid 
which  are  current  in  Spain,  there  would  be  enough 
to  fill  three  good-sized  volumes.  No  legendary  war- 
rior was  ever  dearer  to  his  people  than  this  terrible 
Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Vivar.  Poetry  has  made  him  lit- 
de  less  than  a  god,  and  his  glory  lives  in  the  na- 
tional feeling  of  the  Spanish  as  if  not  eight  centuries 
but  eight  lustres  had  passed  since  the  time  in  which 
he  lived  ;  the  heroic  poem  called  by  his  name, 
which  is  the  finest  monument  of  the  poetry  of  Spain, 
is  still  the  most  powerfully  national  work  of  its 
literature. 

Toward  dusk  I  went  to  walk  under  the  porticoes 
of  the  great  square,  in  the  hope  of  seeinga  few 
people  ;  it  poured,  and  a  high  wind  was  blowing,  so 


BURGOS.  91 

that  I  only  found  several  groups  of  boys,  workmen, 
and  soldiers,  and  therefore  returned  directly  to  the 
hotel.  The  Emperor  of  Brazil  had  arrived  there  that 
morning,  and  was  to  start  that  night  for  Madrid.  In 
the  rooms  where  I  dined,  together  with  some  Spaniards 
with  whom  I  talked  until  the  hour  of  my  departure, 
were  dining  also  all  the  major-domos,  valets,  ser- 
vants, lackeys,  etc.,  of  his  imperial  majesty,  who 
completely  filled  one  huge  table.  In  the  whole 
course  of  my  life  I  have  never  seen  such  a  curious 
group  of  human  beings  before.  There  were  white 
faces,  black  faces,  yellow  faces,  and  copper-colored 
faces ;  such  eyes,  noses,  and  mouths,  not  to  be 
equalled  in  the  whole  collection  of  the  Pasqiiino  of 
Teja.  Everyone  was  talking  a  different  language  : 
some  English,  others  Portuguese,  French,  and 
Spanish  ;  and  others  still,  an  unheard-of  mixture  of 
all  four,  to  which  were  added  words,  sounds,  and 
cadences  of  I  know  not  what  dialect.  Yet  they  un- 
derstood each  other,  and  talked  together  with  such 
confusion  as  to  make  one  think  that  they  were 
speaking  a  single  mysterious  and  horrible  language 
of  some  country  unknown  to  the  world. 

Before  leaving  Old  Castile,  the  cradle  of  the 
Spanish  monarchy,  I  should  like  to  have  seen  Soria, 
built  on  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Numantia;  Se- 
govia, with  its  immense  Roman  aqueduct*;  Saint 
Idelfonso,  the  delicious  garden  of  Philip  V  ;  and 
Avila,  the  native  city  of  Saint  Theresa  ;  but  after 
hastily  performing  the  first  four  operations  of  arith- 
metic, before  taking  my  ticket  for  Valladolid,  I  said 
to  myself  that  there  could  be  nothing  worth  seeing 
in  those  four  cities  ;  that  the  guide-book  exagger- 
ated their  importance  ;  that  fame  makes  much  out 
of  litde  ;    and  that  it  was  far  better  to  see  little  than 


92  SPAfN-. 

much,  provided  that  little  was  well  seen  and  remem- 
bered ;  tocrether  with  other  grood  reasons,  which  vie- 
orously  corresponded  with  the  results  of  my  calcula- 
tions and  the  aims  of  my  hypocrisy. 

So  I  left  Burgos  without  having  seen  anything 
but  monuments,  guides,  and  soldiers  ;  because  the 
Castilian  women,  frightened  by  the  rain,  had  not 
dared  venture  on  their  little  feet  upon  the  streets  ; 
so  that  I  retained  almost  a  sad  recollection  of  that 
city,  notwithstanding  the  splendor  of  its  colors  and 
the  magnificence  of  its  cathedrals. 

From  Burgos  to  Valladolid  the  country  varies 
little  from  that  of  Saragossa  and  Miranda.  There 
are  the  same  vast  and  deserted  plains,  encircled  by 
reddish  hills,  of  curious  shape  and  barren  summits  ; 
those  silent  and  solitary  tracts  of  land,  inundated 
with  a  blazing  light,  which  carry  one's  fancy  off  to 
the  deserts  of  Africa,  the  life  of  hermits,  to  the  sky 
and  the  infinite,  rousing  in  the  heart  an  inexpressi- 
ble feeling  of  weariness  and  sadness.  In  the  midst 
of  those  plains,  that  solitude  and  silence,  one  com- 
prehends the  mystical  nature  of  the  people  of  the 
Castiles,  the  ardent  faith  of  their  kings,  the  sacred  in- 
spirations of  their  poets,  the  divine  ecstasy  of  their 
saints,  the  grand  churches,  cloisters,  and  their  great 
history. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


VALLADOUD. 


VALLADOLID,  the  rich,  as  Quevedo  calls  it, 
the  famous  dispenser  of  influenzas,  was,  of  the 
cities  lying  on  the  north  of  the  Tagus,  the  one  which 
I  most  desired  to  see,  although  knowing  that  it  con- 
tains no  great  monuments  of  art,  nor  anything  modern 
of  note.  I  had  a  particular  sympathy  for  its  name, 
history,  and  character,  which  I  had  imagined  in  my 
own  way,  from  its  inhabitants  ;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
it  must  be  an  elegant,  gay,  and  studious  city,  and  I 
could  not  picture  to  myself  its  streets  without  seeing 
Gongora  pass  here.  Cervantes  there,  Leonardo  de 
Argensola  on  another  side,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  other 
poets,  historians,  and  savants,  who  lived  there  when 
the  superb  court  of  the  monarchy  was  in  existence. 
And  thinking  of  the  court,  I  saw  a  confused  assem- 
blage, in  the  large  squares  of  this  pleasant  city,  of 
religious  processions,  bull-fights,  military  display, 
masquerades,  balls, — all  the  mixture  of  fetes  in  honor 
of  the  birth  of  Philip  IV,  from  the  arrival  of  the 
Enorlish  admiral,  with  his  corteo^^e  of  six  hundred 
cavaliers,  to  the  last  banquet  of  the  famous  one 
thousand  two  hundred  dishos  hi  meat,  without 
counting  those  not  served,  to  quote  thF"  popular 
tradition.  I  arrived  at  wight,  went  to  the  first  ho- 
tel, and  fell   asleep  with  the  delightful  thought  that 

93 


94  SPAIN. 

I  should  awake  in  an  unknown  city.  And  the  awak- 
ening in  an  unknown  city,  when  one  has  gone  there 
from  choice,  is  indeed  a  very  great  pleasure.  The 
thought  that  from  the  moment  you  leave  the  house, 
until  you  return  to  it  at  night,  you  will  do  nothing 
but  pass  from  one  curiosity  to  another,  and  from  one 
satisfaction  to  another.  That  all  which  you  see  will 
be  quite  new  ;  that  at  every  step  you  will  learn 
something,  and  that  every  thing  there  will  impress 
itself  upon  your  memory  throughout  your  life  ;  then 
that  you  will  be  as  free  as  the  air  all  day,  and  as 
gay  as  a  bird,  without  any  thought  save  that  of 
amusing  yourself;  that  in  amusing  yourself  you  will 
improve  body,  mind,  and  soul.  That  the  end  of  all 
these  pleasures,  instead  of  leaving  behind  them  a 
tinge  of  melancholy,  like  the  evenings  after  fete 
days,  will  only  be  the  beginning  of  another  series 
of  delights,  which  will  accompany  you  from  that  city 
to  another,  from  this  to  a  third,  and  so  on,  for  a 
space,  a  time  to  which  your  fancy  assigns  no  limits  ; 
all  these  thoughts,  I  say,  which  crowd  into  your 
mind  at  the  moment  when  you  open  your  eyes,  give 
you  such  a  joyful  shock,  that  before  you  are  aware 
of  it,  you  find  yourself  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  your  hat  on  your  head  and  the  guide- 
book in  hand. 

Let  us  go  then  and  enjoy  Valladolid. 

Alas  !  How  changed  from  the  beautiful  days  of 
Phillip  III!  The  population,  which  counted  for- 
merly one  hundred  thousand  souls,  is  now  reduced  to 
a  litde  more  than  twenty  thousand  ;  in  the  princi- 
pal streets  the  students  of  the  university  and  the 
tourists  who  are  on  their  way  to  Madrid,  make  quite 
a  show  ;  the  other  streets  are  deserted.  It  is  a  city 
which    produces  the   effect    of  a  great   abandoned 


VALLADOLID.  95 

palace,  in  which  one  still  sees,  here  and  there,  the 
traces  of  business,  gilding,  and  mosaic  ;  and  in  the 
inner  rooms,  some  poor  families,  in  whom  the  vast 
solitude  of  the  building  inspires  a  feeling  of  melan- 
choly. There  are  many  large  squares,  some  old 
palaces,  houses  in  ruins,  empty  convents,  and  long 
and  deserted  streets  ;  it  has,  in  fact,  every  appear- 
ance of  a  fallen  city.  The  most  beautiful  point  is  the 
Plaza  Major  (principal  square),  which  is  enormous 
and  surrounded  by  great  columns  of  bluish  granite, 
upon  which  rise  the  houses,  all  three  stories  in 
height,  furnished  with  three  rows  of  very  long  little 
terraces,  where  twenty-four  thousand  people  could 
be  comfortably  seated.  The  porticoes  extend  along 
two  sides  of  a  broad  street  that  comes  out  on  to  the 
square,  and  here,  and  in  two  or  three  other  neigh- 
boring streets,  there  is  the  greatest  concourse  of 
people.  It  was  a  market  day  ;  under  the  porticoes 
and  in  the  square  were  a  crowd  of  peasants,  vege- 
table-venders, and  merchants  ;  and  as  the  Castilian 
is  admirably  spoken  at  Valladolid,  I  began  to  saun- 
ter among  the  heads  of  salad  and  piles  of  oranges, 
to  catch,  when  possible,  the  jokes  and  sounds  of  the 
beautiful  language.  I  remember,  among  others,  a 
curious  proverb  repeated  by  a  woman  provoked  at 
a  young  fellow  who  was  playing  the  bully  : 

"  Sabe  tested','  she  said,  planting  herself  directly  in 
front  of  him,  '^  lo  que  es  que  destruye  al  hoinbref" 
I  stopped  and  listened.  "  Tres  muchos  y  tres  pocos: 
Mucho  hablar y  poco  saber  ;  mucho gastar  y  poco  tener  ; 
imicho  presuinir  y  nada  valer  !  " 

("  Three  muches  and  three  littles  destroy  man  : 
Much  talking  and  litde  knowing  ;  much  spending 
and  litde  keeping ;  much  presuming  and  little 
worth.") 


96  SPAIN. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  distinguish  a  great 
difference  between  the  voices  of  these  people  and 
those  of  the  Catalans  ;  here  they  were  softer  and 
more  silvery,  and  also  the  gestures  gayer  and  the 
expression  of  faces  more  vivacious,  though  there 
is  nothing  peculiar  in  their  faces  and  coloring, — and 
the  dress  does  not  differ  at  all  from  that  of  our  com- 
mon people  of  the  north.  It  was  just  in  the  square 
at  Valladolid  that  I  became  aware  of  the  fact  for  the 
first  time  that  I  had  never  seen  a  pipe  since  I  en- 
tered Spain  !  The  workmen,  peasants,  and  poor 
people  all  smoke  the  cigarrito ;  and  it  is  quite 
laughable  to  see  some  of  these  hardy,  bearded  men 
going  around  with  that  microscopic  little  thing  in 
their  mouths,  half  hidden  by  their  whiskers  ;  they 
smoke  it  diligently  to  the  last  shred  of  tobacco,  until 
they  have  nothing  but  a  dying  spark  on  the  under 
lip  ;  yet  this  they  hold  on  to  (as  if  it  were  a  drop  of 
liquor),  until  the  ashes  fall,  with  the.  air  of  one  mak- 
ing a  sacrifice.  I  remarked  something  else,  too, 
which  I  noticed  afterward  also — throughout  my  en- 
tire stay  in  Spain,  I  never  heard  any  whistling! 

From  the  Plaza  Mayor,  I  betook  myself  to  the 
square  of  Saint  Paul,  in  which  stands  the  old  royal 
palace.  The  fagade  is  not  noteworthy,  either  for 
grandeur  or  beauty.  I  looked  in  at  the  door,  and 
before  experiencing  a  feeling  of  admiration,  I  felt 
one  of  sadness  for  the  sepulchral  silence  which 
reigned  therein.  There  is  nothing  which  produces 
an  impression  more  like  that  of  a  cemetery  than  the 
sight  of  an  abandoned  castle, — just  because  there 
exists  there  in  all  its  force  (more  so  than  in  any 
other  place)  the  contrast  between  the  recollections 
to  which  it  gives  rise  and  the  condition  to  which  it 
is  actually  reduced.     Oh,  superb  corteges  of  plumed 


VALLADOLID.  97 

cavaliers,  oh,  splendid  banquets,  oh,  feverish  enjoy- 
ments of  a  prosperity  which  seemed  everlasting ! 
It  is  rather  a  new  pleasure  to  cough  a  little  before 
these  empty  sepulchres,  as  invalids  do  sometimes  to 
test  their 'strength,  and  to  hear  the  echo  of  your 
robust  voice,  which  assures  you  that  you  are  young 
and  healthful.  In  the  interior  of  the  palace  is  a  large 
court,  surrounded  by  busts  in  mezzo-relievo,  which 
represent  the  Roman  emperors,  and  a  beautiful 
staircase  and  spacious  galleries  on  the  upper  floor. 
I  coughed,  and  the  echo  replied  :  "  What  health  !  " 
— so  I  went  out  comforted.  A  drowsy  porter 
showed  me  on  the  same  square  another  palace, 
which  I  had  not  noticed,  and  told  me  that  in  that 
one  was  born  tJie  great  king  Philip  II,  from  whom 
Valladolid  received'  the  title  of  city ;  "  Yoil  know, 
sir,  PJiilip  the  second,  son  of  Charles  the  fifth,  father 
of  .  .  .  ." 

"  /  know,  I  know,"  I  hastened  to  reply,  to  save 
myself  from  the  narrative,  and,  giving  a  gloomy 
glance  at  the  dismal  palace,  I  moved  on. 

Opposite  the  royal  palace  is  the  Convent  of  the 
Dominicans  of  San  Pablo,  with  a  facade  in  the  Gothic 
style,  so  rich,  and  overloaded  with  statuettes,  bas- 
reliefs  and  ornaments  of  every  kind,  that  the  half 
would  suffice  to  embellish  an  immense  palace.  The 
sun  lay  on  it  at  that  moment  and  the  effect  was 
magnificent.  While  I  stood  contemplating,  at  my 
ease,  that  labyrinth  of  sculpture,  from  which  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  take  one's  eyes  after  looking  at  it,  a  little 
beggar,  of  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  who  was 
seated  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  square,  dashed 
from  his  place  as  if  hurled  from  a  sling,  and,  rushing 
toward  me,  said  : 

"  Oh,  sir! — oh,  sir!   How  fond  I  am  of  you!  " 


98  SPAIN. 

This  is  something  new,  I  thought,  for  the  poor  to 
make  declarations  of  love.  He  came  and  planted 
himself  before  me,  and  I  asked  him  : 

''  Why  do  you  like  me  ?  " 

"  Because,"  he  replied,  very  frankly,  "  you  will 
ofive  me  alms." 

"  But  why  should  I  give  you  anything?  " 

"  Because,"  he  replied,  hesitatingly  ;  then  more 
resolutely,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  has  found  a 
good  reason,  "  because  you  have  a  book,  sir." 

The  guide-book  which  I  had  under  my  arm ! 
Just  see  if  you  do  not  have  to  travel  to  hear  some- 
thing new !  I  had  a  guide,  strangers  carry  guides, 
straneers  eive  alms,  therefore  I  was  bound  to  orive 
him  something  ;  all  this  reasonmg  understood,  m- 
stead  of  saying  :  "  I  am  hungry."  I  was  pleased 
with  the  speciousness  of  the  excuse,  and  I  placed  in 
the  hands  of  that  clever  boy  the  few  ctmrtos  which  I 
found  in  my  pockets. 

Turnine  into  a  neiorhborine;;  street,  I  saw  the 
facade  of  the  Dominican  college  of  San  Gregorio, 
Gothic,  too,  and  grander  and  richer  than  that  of  San 
Pablo.  Then,  from  street  to  street,  until  I  reached 
the  square  of  the  Cathedral.  At  the  moment  in 
which  I  emerge  upon  the  square,  I  meet  a  graceful 
little  Spanish  woman,  to  whom  might  be  applied 
those  two  lines  of  Espronceda  : 

"  Y  que  yo  la  he  de  querer 
Por  su  paso  de  andadura," 

or  our  "  Her  gait  was  nothing  mortal,"  which  is  the 
chief  grace  of  the  Spanish  women.  She  had  in  her 
walk  that  almost  imperceptible  glide  the  undulating 
movements,  which  the   eye  does  not  catch  one  by 


VALLADOLID.  99 

one,  nor  the  memory  retain,  nor  mere  words  de- 
scribe ;  but  which  form  together  that  most  fascina- 
ting" feminine  something  pecuhar  to  women.  Here 
I  found  myself  in  an  embarrassing  position.  I  saw 
the  great  pile,  the  Cathedral,  at  the  end  of  the  square, 
and  curiosity  moved  me  to  look  at  the  building.  I 
saw,  a  few  steps  before  me,  that  little  personage, 
and  a  curiosity,  not  less  lively,  forced  me  to  look  at 
her  ;  so  not  wishing  to  lose  the  first  effect  of  the  church, 
nor  the  fleeting  sight  of  the  woman,  my  eyes  ran 
from  the  small  face  to  the  cupola  and  from  the  cu- 
pola back  to  the  face,  with  breathless  rapidity,  caus- 
ing the  beautiful  unknown  certainly  to  think  that  I 
had  discovered  some  corresponding  lines  or  mys- 
terious bonds  of  sympathy  between  the  edifice  and 
herself,  because  she  turned  to  look  at  the  church, 
and,  passing  near  me,  smiled. 

The  Cathedral  of  Valladolid,  although  unfinished, 
is  one  of  the  largest  cathedrals  of  Spain  :  it  is  an 
imposing  mass  of  granite,  which  produces  in  the 
soul  of  an  unbeliever  an  effect  similar  to  that  of  the 
Church  of  the  Pilar  at  Saragossa.  At  one's  first  en- 
trance, one  files  in  thought  to  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter's  ; 
its  architecture,  which  is  grand  and  simple,  seems  to 
receive  a  refiection  of  sadness  from  the  dark  color 
of  the  stone  ;  the  walls  are  bare,  the  chapels  dark, 
the  arches,  the  pilasters,  doors,  and  every  thing  else 
are  gigantic  and  severe.  It  is  one  of  those  cathe- 
drals which  make  one  stammer  out  his  prayers  with  a 
sense  of  secret  terror.  I  had  not  yet  seen  the  Escurial, 
but  I  thought  of  it.  It  is  a  work,  in  fact,  by  the 
same  architect :  the  church  was  left  uncompleted  in 
order  to  begin  the  construction  of  the  convent  ;  and 
visiting  the  convent  one  is  reminded  of  the  church. 
At  the  right  of  the  high  altar,  in  a  small  chapel,  rises 


I OO  SPAIN. 

the  tomb  of  Peter  Ansurez,  a  gentleman  and  bene- 
factor of  Valladolid,  and  above  his  monument  is 
placed  his  sword.  I  was  alone  in  the  church  and 
heard  the  echo  of  my  footsteps  ;  suddenly  a  chill 
crept  over  me  together  with  a  childish  sense  of  fear  ; 
I  turned  my  back  on  the  tomb  and  went  out. 

Upon  leaving  the  church  I  met  a  priest  of  whom 
I  asked  where  I  should  find  the  house  in  which 
Cervantes  had  lived.  He  replied  that  it  was  in  the 
street  of  Cervantes,  and  showed  me  in  which  direc- 
tion to  go  ;  I  thanked  him,  he  asked  if  I  were  a 
stranger,  to  which  I  responded  : 

"  Yes." 

"  From  Italy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  from  Italy." 

He  looked  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  went  on  his  way.  I  moved  on,  too,  in  an  op- 
posite direction,  and  the  idea  occurred  to  me : 

"  I  would  wager  that  he  has  stopped  to  see  how  a 
gaoler  of  the  Pope  is  made." 

I  turned,  and  there  he  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
square  staring  at  me  as  hard  as  he  could.  I  could 
not  refrain  from  laughing,  and  I  apologized  for  the 
laugh  by  the  salutation  : 

"  Beso  a  zested  la  viano  !  " 

To  which  he  replied  : 

"■Buenos  dias  / "  and  away  he  went;  but  he 
ought  to  have  added,  not  without  some  surprise, 
that,  for  an  Italian,  I  had  not  such  a  rascally  face. 

I  crossed  two  or  three  narrow,  silent  streets,  and 
emerged  upon  the  street  of  Cervantes,  which  is 
long,  straight,  and  muddy,  and  lined  with  miserable 
houses.  I  walked  on  for  a  while,  meeting  only 
some  soldiers,  servants,  and  mules,  looking  here  and 
there  in  search  of  the  inscription  :  ''  A  qui  Vivio  Cer- 


VALLADOLID.  lOI 

vanles,"  etc.  ;  but  I  found  nothing.  Reaching  the 
end  of  the  street,  I  found  myself  in  the  open  coun- 
try ;  not  a  hving  soul  was  to  be  seen.  I  stood  look- 
ino-  around  me  for  a  while,  then  turned  back.  I 
came  across  a  muleteer,  and  asked  him  : 
"  Where  is  the  house  of  Cervantes  ?  " 
His  only  reply  was  a  blow  to  the  mule,  and  on  he 
went. 

I  asked  a  soldier  ;  he  sent  me  to  a  shop.  In  the 
shop  I  questioned  an  old  woman.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand me  ;  thought  I  wished  to  purchase  Don 
Quixote,  and  so  sent  me  to  a  bookseller.  The 
bookseller  who  wished  to  give  himself  the  air  of  a 
savant,  and  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  tell  me 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  Cervantes'  house,  began 
beating  about  the  bush,  by  talking  of  the  life  and 
works  of  the  famous  writer  ;  so  that  it  all  ended  in 
my  going  about  my  own  affairs  without  having  seen 
anything.  Still  some  recollection  of  the  house  must 
have  been  retained  (and  I  certainly  should  have 
found  it  had  I  searched  for  it  more  carefully),  not 
only  because  Cervantes  lived  in  it,  but  because  an 
event  transpired  there,  of  which  all  his  biographers 
make  mention.  Shordy  after  the  birth  of  Philip  IV, 
a  cavalier  of  the  court  having  met  one  night  with 
some  unknown  man,  they  began  disputing — it  is  not 
known  why, — and  finally  seizing  their  swords  fought 
until  the  cavalier  was  mortally  wounded.  The  man 
who  gave  the  wound  disappeared.  The  cavalier,  all 
covered  with  blood,  ran  to  iDeg  assistance  at  a  neigh- 
boring house,  which  was  the  one  inhabited  by  Cer- 
vantes and  his  family  and  the  widow  of  a  renowned 
writer  of  chronicles  with  two  sons.  One  of  the  lat- 
ter raised  the  wounded  man  from  the  ground,  and 
called  Cervantes,    who    was  already  in   bed.     Cer- 


102  SPAIN. 

vantes  came  down  stairs  and  assisted  his  friend  to 
carry  the  cavaHer  into  the  widow's  house.  Two  days 
later  he  died.  Justice  took  up  the  affair  and  tried 
to  discover  the  cause  of  the  duel.  It  was  believed 
that  the  two  combatants  were  paying  court  to  the 
daughter  or  the  niece  of  Cervantes,  and  all  the  fam- 
ily was  imprisoned.  A  short  time  afterward  they 
were  set  at  liberty  and  nothing  more  was  known 
about  the  matter.  This,  too,  had  to  fall  to  the  lot 
of  the  poor  author  of  Don  Quixote,  so  that  he 
could  be  said  to  have  experienced  every  kind  of  trial. 

In  that  same  street  I  enjoyed  a  little  scene  which 
rewarded  me  a  thousand  times  for  not  having  found 
the  house.  Passing  a  door  I  surprised  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps  a  little  Castilian  girl  of  twelve  or  thir- 
teen, beautiful  as  an  angel,  who  held  a  child  in  her 
arms.  I  cannot  find  words  delicate  enough  with 
which  to  describe  what  she  was  doing.  A  childish 
curiosity  about  the  sweets  of  maternal  love  had 
gently  tempted  her.  The  buttons  of  her  little  waist 
had  slipped  out  of  the  button-holes  one  by  one,  un- 
der the  pressure  of  a  wee,  trembling  finger.  She 
was  alone  ;  no  sound  was  heard  in  the  street  ;  she 
had  hidden  her  hand  in  her  bosom  ;  then,  perhaps, 
had  been  perplexed  for  a  moment;  but  giving  a 
glance  at  the  baby  and  feeling  her  courage  return, 
had  made  an  effort  with  the  hidden  hand,  and,  baring 
the  breast,  held  apart  the  baby's  lips  with  her 
forefinger  and  thumb,  while  she  said  with  ten- 
derness : 

"  Hela  aqni "  (here  it  is),  her  face  quite  scar- 
let and  a  sweet  smile  in  her  eyes.  Hearing  my 
steps,  she  uttered  a  cry  and  disappeared. 

Instead  of  Cervantes'  house,  I  found,  a  little  way 
beyond,  the  one  in  which  Don  Jose  Zorilla  was  born. 


t5 


VALLADOLID.  I03 

He  is  one  of  the  most  valiant    Spanish  poets  of  the 
present  day  ;  still  living,  but  not  to  be  confounded, 
as  many  in  Italy  do,  with    Zorilla,  the    head    of  the 
Radical  party,    although    the  latter,  too,  has    some 
poetry  in    him,  and  scatters    it  generously  through 
his  political  speeches,  giving  it  additional  force   by 
shouts  and  furious  gestures.     Don  Jose  Zorilla  is  to 
Spanish  literature,  in  my  opinion,  rather  more  than 
Prati  is    to  the  Italian,  although  they  have  several 
traits  in  common  ;  such  as,  religious  sentiment,  pas- 
sion, fecundity,  spontaneity,    and  an    indescribable 
vague  and  bold  something  which  excites  the  youth- 
ful mind,  and  a  way  of  reading,  as  it  is  said,  very 
resonant  and  solemn,  although  a  trifle  monotonous, 
about  which,  however,  many    Spaniards    go  crazy. 
As  to  form,  I  should  say  the  Spanish  poet  was  more 
correct;  both  are  rather  prolix,  and  in  each  there  is 
a  germ  of  a  great  poet.   Admirable,  above  every  other 
work  of  Zorilla,  are  the  "  Songs  of  the  Troubadour," 
narratives  and  legends,  full  of  sweet  love-verses  and 
descriptions  of  an   incomparable  power.     He  wrote 
also  for  the  theatre,  and  his  Don  Juan   Tenorio,  a 
fantastic  drama  in  rhyme,  in  eight-line  verses,  is  one 
of  the  most  popular  dramatic  works  in  Spain.     It  is 
given    every    year    on    All-saints-day,     splendidly 
mounted,  and  the  people  all  go  to  witness  it  as  they 
would  to  a  fete.     Some  lyric  bits,  scattered  through 
the    drama,  are    quoted   by  every    one ;    especially 
Don   Juan's  declaration  of  love  to  his  sweetheart, 
whom  he  has  abducted,  which  is  one  of  the  sweetest, 
tenderest,    and     most    impassioned    that    can     fall 
from  the  lips  of  an  enamored  youth  in  the  most  im- 
petuous burst  of  passion.     I   challenge  the  coldest 
man  to  read  these  verses  without  trembling !     Yet, 
perhaps,  the  woman's  reply  is  more  powerful  still : 


I04  SPAIN. 

"  Don  Juan  !  Don  Juan  !  I  implore  thy  noble  com- 
passion ;  oh,  tear  out  my  heart  or  love  me,  because 
I  adore  thee !  "  Let  some  Andalusian  woman  repeat 
those  lines  to  you,  and  )-ou  will  appreciate  them,  or, 
if  you  cannot  do  this,  try  to  read  the  ballad  en- 
titled La  Pasionaria,  which  is  a  trifle  long,  but  full 
of  affection  and  a  melancholy  which  enchants  you. 
I  cannot  think  of  it  without  my  eyes  filling  with 
tears  ;  for  I  see  those  two  young  lovers,  Aurora  and 
Felix,  in  a  deserted  campagna,  at  sunset,  as  they 
move  away  from  each  other  in  different  directions, 
turning  now  and  then,  saluting  each  other  and  never 
tiring  of  looking  at  one  another.  They  are  verses 
which  the  Spanish  call  asonanks,  without  rhyme, 
but  composed  and  arranged  so  that  the  last  syllable 
but  one  of  each  verse  (equal  or  unequal),  upon  which 
the  accent  falls,  always  has  the  vowel.  This  is  the 
most  popular  kind  of  poetry  in  Spain, — the  Ro- 
manccro,  in  which  many  improvise  with  marvellous 
facility.  Nor  can  a  stranger  catch  all  its  harmony 
unless  his  ear  is  accustomed  to  it. 

"  Can  I  see  the  picture-gallery  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  sir?  " 

The  portress  opened  the  door  of  the  principal  col- 
lege of  Santa  Cruz,  and  accompanied  me  into  the 
interior.  The  pictures  are  many  in  number,  but 
aside  from  some  of  Rubens,  Mascagni,  Cardenas, 
and  Vincenzo  Carducci,  the  remainder  are  of  little 
value,  gathered  here  and  there  from  convents,  and 
scattered  at  random  through  the  corridors,  rooms, 
staircases,  and  galleries.  Notwithstanding  this,  it  is 
a  museum  which  leaves  a  profound  impression  upon 
the  mind,  not  unlike  that  produced  by  the  first  sight 
of  the  bull-fights.  In  fact,  more  than  six  months 
have  passed  since  that  day,  yet  the  impression  is  as 


VALLADOLID.  IO5 

fresh  as  If  I  had  received  it  a  few  hours  ago.  The 
saddest,  most  sanguinary,  and  most  horrible  things 
that  have  issued  from  the  pencil  of  the  fiercest  Span- 
ish painters  are  gathered  there.  Picture  to  yourself 
sores,  mutilated  members,  heads  severed  from  the 
body,  extenuated  bodies,  people  who  have  been 
flogged,  torn  with  pincers,  burned,  and  martyrized 
with  all  the  torments  that  you  have  ever  found  de- 
scribed in  the  romances  of  Guerrazzi,  or  in  the  his- 
tories of  the  Inquisition,  and  you  will  not  succeed  in 
forming  an  adequate  idea  of  the  Museum  of  Valla- 
dolid.  Pass  from  room  to  room,  and  you  see  noth- 
ing but  distorted  faces  of  the  dead,  dying,  of  those 
possessed  with  devils,  of  executioners,  and  on  every 
side  blood,  blood,  blood,  so  that  you  seem  to  see  it 
spurt  from  the  walls,  and  to  v/ade  in  it  like  the  Babette 
of  Padre  Bresciani  in  the  prisons  of  Naples.  It  is  a 
collection  of  pains  and  horrors,  sufficient  in  number 
to  fill  the  hospitals  of  a  State.  At  first,  one  expe- 
riences a  sense  of  sadness,  then  a  repulsion — in  fact, 
more  than  repulsion — of  disdain  for  the  butcher 
artists  who  degraded  the  art  of  Raphael  and  Murillo 
in  such  an  indecent  manner.  The  picture  most 
worthy  of  notice  among  the  many  bad  ones,  although 
it  is  also  of  a  pitiless  Spanish  realism,  represented 
the  circumcision  of  Jesus,  with  all  the  most  minute 
details  of  the  operation,  and  a  group  of  spectators, 
bowed  and  immovable,  like  the  students  in  surgical 
clinic  around  the  chief  operator.  "  Let  us  go — let 
us  go !  "  I  said  to  the  courteous  portress ;  "  if  I  re- 
main here  another  half  hour,  I  shall  leave  burned, 
flayed,  or  quartered;  have  you  nothing  more  cheerful 
to  show  me? '"  She  took  me  to  see  the  Ascension, 
of  Rubens,  a  grand  and  effective  picture,  which 
would  be  well  placed  above  a  high  altar  :    it  repre- 


I06  SPAIN. 

sent3  a  majestic  and  gleaming  Virgin  who  is  ascend- 
ing toward  Heaven ;  at  the  sides,  above  and  below, 
there  is  a  crowd  of  angels'  faces,  wreaths  of  flowers, 
golden  heads,  white  wings,  flying  objects,  and  rays 
of  light.  Every  thing  is  trembling,  breaking  through 
the  air,  and  going  upward,  like  a  flock  of  sparrows, 
so  that  it  seems  as  if  from  one  moment  to  another 
every  thing  would  rise  and  disappear. 

But  it  was  foreordained  that  I  should  not  leave 
the  museum  with  an  agreeable  image  before  my 
eyes.  The  portress  opened  a  door  and  laughingly 
said  to  me  : 

"  Go  in." 

I  entered  and  stepped  back  quite  startled.  I 
seemed  to  have  stumbled  into  a  mad-house  of  giants. 
The  immense  room  was  full  of  colossal  statues  in 
colored  wood,  representing  all  the  actors  and  all 
those  who  took  part  in  the  Passion  Play, — soldiers, 
officers,  and  spectators,  each  in  the  attitude  which  his 
office  required  ;  some  in  the  act  of  beating,  some 
who  were  binding,  others  wounding,  and  others 
still,  mocking — horrible  faces  horribly  contracted — 
there  the  kneeling  women,  Jesus  fastened  upon  an 
enormous  cross,  the  thieves,  the  ladder,  the  instru- 
ments of  torture, — everything  necessary,  in  fact,  to 
represent  the  Passion  as  was  once  done  on  the 
square  with  a  group  of  those  colossal  creatures  who 
must  have  occupied  the  space  of  a  house.  And 
here,  too,  were  wounds,  heads  immersed  in  blood, 
and  lacerations  which  made  one  shudder. 

"  Look  at  that  Judas,"  said  the  woman,  pointing 
to  one  of  the  statues  with  a  gallows  face  of  which 
I  still  dream  from  time  to  tinie.  "  That  one  they 
were  obliged  to  take  away  when  the  groups  were 
formed  oiitside,  because   it  was  so  sad  and   ugly  ; 


VALLADOLID.  lOJ 

the  people  hated  it,  and  wished  to  break  It  into 
pieces,  so  that  the  guards  ahvays  had  their  hands 
full  to  keep  the  populaces  from  passing  from  threats 
to  deeds.  It  was  finally  decided  to  form  the  group 
without  it." 

One  Madonna  struck  me  as  being  very  beauti- 
ful (I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  that  of  Berrug- 
nete,  Juan  de  Juni,  or  Hernandez,  for  there  are  statues 
of  all  three).  She  was  kneeling,  her  hands  clasped 
and  her  eyes  turned  upward,  with  an  expression  of 
such  desperate  grief,  that  it  moves  one  to  pity  like 
a  living  person,  and  seems,  in  fact,  a  few  feet  away, 
to  be  really  alive,  so  much  so,  that  in  seeing  it  sud- 
denly, one  cannot  withhold  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 

"  The  English,"  said  the  portress  (because  guides 
adopt  the  opinion  of  the  English  as  a  seal  for  their 
own,  and  sometimes  accredit  them  with  the  most  ex- 
travagant absurdities),  "  the  English  say  that  only 
speech  is  lacking." 

I  joyfully  acquiesced  in  the  opinion  of  the  Eng- 
lish, gave  the  portress  the  usual  reales,  and  going 
out  with  my  head  full  of  sanguinary  images,  I 
greeted  the  cheerful  day  with  an  unusual  feeling  of 
pleasure,  like  that  of  a  young  student  on  leaving 
the  anatomical-room  where  he  has  witnessed  the 
first  autopsy. 

I  visited  the  beautiful  palace  of  the  University, 
La  plaza  cainpo  grande  (where  the  Holy  Inquisition 
lighted  its  pyres),  which  is  large,  gay,  and  surrounded 
by  fifteen  convents  ;  and  some  churches  containing 
noted  pictures.  When  I  began  to  feel  that  the  recol- 
lections of  the  things  seen  were  becoming  confused 
in  my  brain,  I  put  my  guide-book  in  my  pocket  and 
walked  toward  the  principal  square.     I  did  the  same 


I08  SPAIN. 

thing  in  all  the  other  cities,  for  when  the  mind  Is 
weary,  the  desire  to  force  its  attention  from  the 
pedantic  idea  of  not  paying  proper  regard  to  the 
guide-book,  may  be  a  proof  of  constancy,  but  it  is 
baleful  to  one  who  is  travelling  with  the  object  of 
narrating  afterward  this  impression  of  the  objects 
seen.  Since  one  cannot  retain  everything,  it  is  bet- 
ter not  to  confuse  the  distinct  recollection  of  the 
principal  things  with  a  crowd  of  vague  reminiscences 
of  inferior  ones.  Besides  this,  one  never  retains  a 
grateful  remembrance  of  a  city  in  which  one  has 
tried  to  do  too  much. 

In  order  to  see  the  appearance  of  the  city  at 
nightfall,  I  went  to  walk  under  the  porticoes,  where 
they  were  beginning  to  light  the  shops,  and  there 
was  a  cominor  and  ofoine  of  soldiers,  students,  and 
girls  who  disappeared  through  the  little  doors, 
slipped  around  the  columns,  and  glided  here  and 
there,  flying  from  the  importunate  hands  of  the 
pursuers,  enveloped  in  their  ample  cloaks  ;  and  a 
crowd  of  boys  raced  around  the  square,  filling  the 
air  with  their  cries,  and  everywhere  there  were 
groups  of  caballcros,  in  which  one  heard  from  time 
to  time  the  names  of  Serrano,  Sagasta,  and  Ama- 
deus,  alternating  with  the  words  justicia,  libertad, 
traicion,  honra  dc  Espaiia,  and  the  like.  I  entered 
an  immense  cafe  filled  with  students,  and  there  sat- 
isfied, as  a  choice  writer  would  say,  the  natural 
talent  of  eatinir  and  drinkinof.  But  as  I  felt  a  oreat 
desire  to  talk,  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  two  students 
who  were  sipping  their  coffee  at  a  table  near  by,  and, 
without  preamble,  I  addressed  one  of  them, — a  most 
natural  tiling  to  do  in  Spain,  where  one  is  always 
sure  of  receiving  a  courteous  answer.  The  two 
students  approached,  and  the   usual  discussion   fol- 


VALLADOLID.  IO9 

lowed,  such  as  Italy,  Amadeus,  the  University,  Cer- 
vantes, Andahisian  women,  bulls,  Dante,  and  trav- 
els,-— a  course,  in  fact,  of  geography,  literary  his- 
tory, and  the  customs  of  the  two  countries  ;  then  a 
glass  of  Malaga  and  a  friendly  clasp  of  the  hand. 

Oh,  caballcros,  so  pleasantly  remembered,  fre- 
quenters of  all  the  cafes,  guests  at  all  the  table  d' 
botes,  neighbors  at  the  theatre,  traveling  compan- 
ions on  all  the  railways  in  Spain;  you  who  so  many 
times,  moved  by  kind  pity  for  an  unknown  stranger, 
who  glanced  with  a  melancholy  eye  over  the  Indi- 
cador  de  la  Ferncovia  (railway  guide)  or  the  Corre- 
spondencia  Espafiola,  thinking  of  his  family,  friends, 
and  distant  country,  you  offered  him,  with  amiable 
spontaneity,  a  cigai^rito,  and,  taking  part  in  a  con- 
versation which  broke  up  the  train  of  sad  thoughts, 
left  him  calm  and  cheerful ;  I  thank  you.  Oh,  cabal- 
leros,  so  pleasantly  remembered,  whomsoever  you 
may  be,  whether  Carlists,  Alphonsists,  followers  of 
Amadeus,  or  liberals,  I  thank  you  from  the  depths 
of  my  heart,  in  the  name  of  all  the  Italians  who 
travel  and  all  those  who  shall  travel  in  your  dear 
country.  And  I  swear  upon  the  everlasting  volume 
of  Michael  Cervantes,  that  every  time  I  hear  you 
accused  of  ferocious  souls  and  savage  customs  by 
your  most  civilized  European  brothers,  I  will  rise 
and  defend  you  with  the  impetuosity  of  an  Andahi- 
sian and  the  tenacity  of  a  Catalan,  as  long  as  I  have 
voice  enough  left  to  cry  :  "  Long  live  hospi- 
tality! " 

A  few  hours  afterward  I  found  myself  in  the  car- 
riage of  a  train  going  to  Madrid,  and  the  whistle  for 
departure  had  scarcely  ceased,  when  I  struck  my 
forehead  in  sign  of  despair.  Alas  !  it  was  late  ;  and 
at  Valladolid  I  had  forgotten  to  visit  the  room  where 
Christopher  Columbus  died ! 


CHAPTER  V. 


MADRID. 


I 


T  was   day  when  one 
my  ear : 

'  Caballero  /  " 
"  Are  we  at  Madrid  ?  " 
"  Not  yet,"  he  replied  ; 


of  my  neighbors  cried  in 


I  asked,  waking  up. 
"  but  look  !  " 


I  turned  toward  the  country,  and  saw  at  the  dis- 
tance of  half  a  mile,  on  the  slope  of  a  high  mountain, 
the  convent  of  the  Escurial,  illuminated  by  the  first 
rays  of  the  sun.  Lc  plus  grand  tas  de  granit  qui  cxiste 
sur  la  terre,  as  it  is  called  by  an  illustrious  traveller, 
did  not  seem  to  me,  at  first  sicrht,  the  immense  edi- 
fice  which  the  Spanish  people  consider  the  eighth 
marvel  of  the  world.  Nevertheless,  I  uttered  my 
Oh  !  like  the  other  tourists  who  saw  it  for  the  first 
time,  reserving  all  my  admiration  for  the  day  when 
I  should  have  seen  it  from  a  nearer  point  of  view. 
From  the  Escurial  to  Madrid  the  railway  traverses 
an  arid  plain,  which  reminds  one  of  that  at  Rome. 

"  You  have  never  seen  Madrid  '^.  "  my  neighbor 
asked. 

I  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  It  seems  impossible,"  exclaimed  the  good  Span- 
iard, and  he  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  curiosity,  as 
if  he  were  saying  to  himself: 

"  Oh,  let  me  see  how  a  man  is  made  who  has  not 
seen  Madrid  !  " 


MADRID.  1 1 1 

Then  he  began  enumerating  the  great  things 
which  I  would  see. 

''What  promenades!  What  cafes!  What  the- 
atres !  What  women  !  For  any  one  having  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  to  spend,  there  is  nothing 
better  than  Madrid  ;  it  is  a  great  monster  who  lives 
upon  fortunes ;  if  I  were  you,  I  should  like  to  pour 
mine  down  its  throat." 

I  squeezed  my  flabby  pocket-book  and  murmur- 
red  : 

"  Poor  monster  !  " 

"Here  we  are!"  cried  the  Spaniard;  ''look 
out!" 

I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window. 

"  That  is  the  royal  palace !  " 

I  saw  an  immense  pile  on  a  hill,  but  instantly 
closed  my  eyes,  because  the  sun  was  in  my  face. 
Every  one  rose,  and  the  usual  bustle  of 

"  Coats,  shawls,  and  other  rags" 

• 

began,  which  always  impedes  the  first  view  of  a 
city.  <^he  train  stops,  I  get  out,  and  find  myself  in 
a  square  full  of  carriages,  in  the  midst  of  a  noisy 
crowd  ;  a  thousand  hands  are  stretched  out  toward 
my  valise,  a  hundred  mouths  shriek  in  my  ear.  It 
is  an  indescribable  confusion  of  porters,  hackmen, 
guards,  guides,  boys,  and  commissioners  of  casas 
de  Juiespedcs.  I  make  way  for  myself  with  my 
elbows,  jump  into  an  omnibus  full  of  people,  and 
away  we  go.  We  pass  through  a  large  street, 
cross  a  great  square,  traverse  a  broad,  straight 
street,  and  arrive  at  the  Puerta  del  Sol.  It  is  a 
stupendous  sight !  It  is  an  immense  semicircular 
square  (surrounded  by  high  buildings),  into  which 


112  SPAIN. 

open,  like  ten  torrents,  ten  great  streets,  and  from 
every  street  comes  a  continuous,  noisy  wave  of 
people  and  carriages,  and  everything  seen  there  is 
in  proportion  with  the  vastness  of  the  locality.  The 
sidewalks  are  as  wide  as  streets,  the  cafes  large  as 
squares,  the  basin  of  a  fountain  the  size  of  a  lake  ;  and 
on  every  side  there  is  a  dense  and  mobile  crowd,  a 
deafening  racket,  an  indescribable  gayety  and  bright- 
ness in  the  features,  gestures,  and  colors,  which 
makes  you  feel  that  neither  the  populace  nor  the 
city  are  strange  to  you,  and  which  produces  in  you  a 
desire  to  mingle  in  the  tumult,  greet  every  one, 
and  run  here  and  there,  rather  to  recognize  persons 
and  things  than  to  see  them  for  the  first  time.^ 

I  get  out  at  a  hotel,  leave  it  instantly,  and  oegin 
roaming  about  the  streets  at  random.  nSTo  great 
palaces  nor  ancient  monuments  of  art  meet  the  eye  ; 
but  there  are  wide,  clean,  gay  streets,  flanked  by 
houses  painted  in  vivid  colors,  broken  here  and 
there  by  squares  of  a  thousand  different  forms,  laid 
out  almost  at  random,  and  every  square  contains  a 
garden,  fountain,  and  statuette.\  S'ome  streets  have 
a  slight  ascent,  so  that  in  entering  them  one  sees  at 
the  end  the  sky,  and  seems  to  be  emerging  into 
the  open  country  ;  but  on  reaching  the  highest  point 
another  long  street  extends  before  one.  Every  now 
and  then  there  are  cross  roads  of  five,  six,  and  even 
eight  streets,  and  here  there  is  a  continuous  min- 
gling of  carriages  and  people  ;  the  walls  are  covered, 
for  some  distance,  with  play  bills ;  in  the  shops  there 
is  an  incessant  coming  and  going  ;  the  cafes  are 
crowded  ;  and  on  every  side  there  is  the  bustle  of  a 
large  city,  fllie  street  Alcala,  which  is  so  wide  that 
it  seems  almost  like  a  rectangular  square,  divides 
Madrid   in  half,  from   the  Pucrta  del  Sol  toward  the 


MADRID.  I  1 3 

east,  and  ends  in  an  immense  plain,  that  extends  all 
along  the  side  of  the  city,  and  contains  gardens, 
walks,  squares,  theatres,  bull-circuses,  triumphal 
arches,  museums,  small  palaces,  and  fountains.  I 
jump  into  a  carriage  and  say  to  the  coachman  : 
''Vuela!"'  I  pass  the  statue  of  Murillo,  reascend 
the  street  Alcala,  traverse  the  street  of  the  Turk, 
where  General  Prim  was  assassinated ;  cross  the 
square  of  the  Cortes,  in  which  the  statue  of  Michael 
Cervantes  stands ;  emerge  on  the  Plaza  Mayor, 
where  the  Inquisition  lighted  its  pyres  ;  turn  back, 
and  in  front  of  the  house  of  Lopez  de  la  Vega,  come 
out  on  the  immense  square  of  the  Orient,  opposite 
the  royal  palace,  where  rises  the  equestrian  statue  of 
Philip  IV  in  the  midst  of  a  garden  surrounded  by 
forty  colossal  statues  ;  climb  again  toward  the  heart 
of  the  city,  crossing  other  broad  streets,  gay  squares, 
and  cross-roads  filled  with  people  ;  then  finally  return 
to  the  hotel,  declaring  that  Madrid  is  grand,  gay, 
rich,  populous,  and  charming,  and  that  I  should  like 
to  stay  there  some  time,  see  everything,  and>enj,oy 
myself  as  long  as  my  purse  and  the  clemency  of  the 
season  would  permit. 

After  a  few  days  a  kind  friend  found  me  a  casa 
de  Juiespcdes  (boarding-house),  and  I  established  my- 
self there.  These  guest-houses  are  nothing  more 
than  families  who  furnish  board  and  lodsfino"  to 
students,  artists,  and  strangers,  at  different  prices,  be. 
it  understood,  according  to  one's  accommodation  ;) 
but  always  more  reasonably  than  the  hotels,  with 
the  inestimable  advantage  that  one  enjoys  a  breath 
of  home  life  therein,  forms  friendships,  and  is  treated 
more  like  one  of  the  family  than  like  a  boarder. 
The  landlady  was  a  good  woman  in  the  fifties,  the 
widow   of   a   painter   who    had   studied   at    Rome, 


1 14  MADRID. 

Florence,  and  Naples,  and  had  retained  throughout 
life  a  grateful  and  affectionate  recollection  of  Italy. 
She,  too,  quite  naturally,  evinced  a  lively  sjnnpathy 
for  our  country,  and  displayed  it  every  day  by  being 
present  when  I    dined,   recounting  to   me  the   life, 
death,  and  miracles  of  all  of  her  relations  and  friends, 
as  if  I  were  the  sole  confidant  she  had  at  Madrid.     I 
heard    few    Spaniards   talk   as   quickly,  frankly,  and 
with  as  great  an   abundance  of  phrases,  bons-mots, 
comparisons,  proverbs,   and    as    large    a   choice    of 
words  as  she.     During  the  first  few  days  I  was  dis- 
concerted by  them  ;  I  comprehended  very  little,  was 
obliged  to  beg  her  to  repeat  every  moment,  could 
not   always   make    myself  understood,  and  became 
aware  of  the  fact  that  in  studying  the  language  from 
books  I   had  wasted  much  time  in   filling  my  head 
with  phrases  and  words  which  rarely  occur  in  ordi- 
nary   conversation,    while    I    had    neglected    many 
others  that   are    indispensable.     Therefore,    I    was 
obliged   to  begin   by  collecting,  noting  down,  and, 
above  all,  straining   my  ears   in  order  to  profit  as 
much  as  I  could  from  the  conversation  of  people. 
And  I  persuaded  myself  of  this  truth — that  one  may 
remain   ten,  thirty,  forty  years  in  a  foreign  city,  but 
that  if  one  does  not  make  an  effort  in  the  beeinnine. 
if  one  does  not  continue  to  study  for  a  long  time,  if 
one  does   not   always  keep — as  Giusti  said — ''   the 
eyes   wide  open,"   one  never   learns   to   speak   the 
language,  or  will  always  speak  it  badly.     I  knew  at 
Madrid   some  old   Italians  who  had  lived  since  their 
youth  in  Spain  and  spoke  Spanish  atrociously.     In 
fact,  it  is  not,  even  for  us  Italians,  an  easy  language ; 
or  to  express   myself  better,   it  presents  the   great 
difficulty  of  easy  languages,  which  is,  that  it  is   not 
permissable  to  talk  them  badly,  because  it  is  not  in- 


MADRID.  1 1 5 

dispensable  to  speak  them  well  in  order  to  be  under- 
stood. The  Italian  who  wishes  to  speak  Spanish 
with  cultivated  people,  all  of  whom  would  understand 
French,  must  justify  his  presumption  by  talking  it 
with  facility  and  grace. 

Now  the  Spanish  language,  especially  because  it 
resembles  ours  more  closely  than  the  French,  is  de- 
cidedly more  difficult  to  speak  quickly,  and,  so  to 
express  myself,  by  ear,  without  making  mistakes, 
because  one  can  say  more  easily,  for  instance, 
propre,  imn'tuaii'c,  dclice,  without  running  the  risk  of 
letting  propiao,  morinario,  delicia  escape  one,  than 
the  words  propio,  viortuorio,  delicia.  One  drops 
into  the  Italian  involuntarily,  inverts  syntax  at  every 
instant,  and  has  his  own  language  continually  in  his 
ear  or  on  his  tongue,  so  that  he  stammers,  becomes 
confused,  and  betrays  himself  Neither  is  the  Span- 
ish pronunciation  any  less  difficult  than  the  French  ; 
the  Spanish  J —  so  easy  to  pronounce  when  alone, 
is  exceedingly  difficult  when  two  appear  in  a  word, 
or  several  of  them  in  a  proposition  ;  the  Z  which  is 
pronounced  like  S,  is  not  acquired  save  after  long 
and  patient  practice,  because  it  is  a  sound  which  is 
disagreeable  to  us  at  first,  and  many,  even  knowing- 
it,  will  never  permit  it  to  be  heard.  Yet  if  there  is  a 
city  in  Europe  where  the  language  of  a  country  can 
be  well  learned,  that  city  is  Madrid  ;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  Toledo,  Valladolid,  and  Burgos.  The 
populace  speaks  as  the  cultivated  write  ;  the  differ- 
ences of  pronunciation  between  the  educated  class 
and  the  common  people  of  the  suburbs  are  very 
slicrht;  and  settina:  aside  those  four  cities,  the  Span- 
ish  language  is  incomparably  more  spoken,  more 
common,  and  for  this  reason  more  forcible,  and  con- 
sequendy    more     efficacious     in    the    newspapers, 


1  1 6  SPAIN. 

theatres,  and  popular  literature,  than  the  Italian  lan- 
guage. There  are  in  Spain  the  Valencian,  Catalan, 
Galician,  Murcian  dialects,  and  the  ancient  language 
of  the  Basque  provinces  ;  but  Spanish  is  spoken  in 
the  Castiles,  Arragon,  Estramaclura,  and  Andalusia, 
that  is  to  say  in  the  five  great  provinces.  The  joke 
enjoyed  at  Saragossa  is  enjoyed  at  Seville  also  ;  the 
popular  phrase  which  pleases  the  pit  in  a  theatre  at 
Salamanca,  obtains  the  same  success  in  a  theatre  at 
Granada.  It  is  said  that  the  Spanish  language  of  to- 
day is  no  longer  that  of  Cervantes,  Quevedo,  Lopez 
de  la  Vega ;  that  the  French  tongue  has  corrupted  it ; 
that  if  Charles  V  were  to  live  aorain  he  would  not 
say  that  it  was  the  language  to  speak  with  God  ; 
and  that  Sancho  Panza  would  no  longer  be  under- 
stood or  enjoyed.  Ah  !  Any  one  who  may  have 
frequented  the  eating-houses  and  miserable  theatres 
of  the  suburbs,  reluctantly  reconciles  himself  to  this 
conclusion! 

Passing  from  the  tongue  to  the  palate,  a  little 
ofood-will  is  needful  in  order  to  habituate  one's  self  to 
certain  sauces  and  gravies  peculiar  to  the  Spanish 
kitchen, — but  I  accustomed  myself  to  them.  The 
French,  who,  in  the  matter  of  cooking,  are  as  diffi- 
cult to  please  as  badly-trained  children,  cry  out 
against  it  ;  Dumas  says  he  has  suffered  from  hunger 
in  Spain  ;  and  in  a  book  on  Spain  which  I  have  be- 
fore me,  it  is  stated  that  the  Spaniards  live  on  noth- 
ing but  honey,  mushrooms,  eggs,  and  snails.  This 
is  all  nonsense  ;  the  same  thing  may  be  said  of  our 
cooking.  I  have  seen  many  Spanish  who  were 
made  sick  by  the  sight  of  macaroni  with  sauce. 
They  mix  things  a  trifle  too  much,  abuse  the  use  of 
fat,  and  season  too  highly  ;  but  really  not  enough  to 
take  away  Dumas'  "  appetite."     They  are  masters, 


MADRID.  WJ 

among  other  things,  of  sweets.  Then  comes  their 
pticJicro.  a  national  dish,  eaten  every  day  by  the 
Spaniards,  in  every  place,  and  I  tell  the  truth  when 
I  say  that  I  devoured  it  with  a  voracious  enjoyment. 
T\-\Q.  ptichcro  is,  in  regard  to  the  culinary  art,  what 
an  anthology  is  to  literature  :  it  is  a  little  of  every- 
thing and  the  best.  A  good  slice  of  boiled  meat 
forms  the  nucleus  of  the  dish  ;  around  it  are  the 
wings  of  a  fowl,  a  piece  of  chorizo  (sausage),  lard, 
vegetables  and  ham  ;  under  it,  over  it,  and  in  all  the 
interstices  "scc^  garbanzos.  Epicures  pronounce  the 
name  of  garbanzos  with  re\'erence.  They  are  a 
species  of  bean,  but  are  larger,  more  tender,  and 
richer  in  flavor  ;  beans,  an  extravagant  person  would 
say,  which  had  fallen  down  from  some  world  where 
a  vegetation  equal  to  ours  is  enriched  by  a  more 
powerful  sun.  Such  is  the  ordinary  piichcro ;  but 
every  family  modifies  it  according  to  its  purse  ;  the 
poor  man  is  content  with  meat  and  garbanzos  ;  the 
gentleman  adds  to  it  a  hundred  delicious  tid-bits. 
At  the  bottom,  it  is  really  more  of  a  dinner  than  a 
dish,  and  therefore  many  eat  nothing  else.  A  good 
p2iche7'o  with  a  bottle  of  Val  de  Peiias  ought  to  satisfy 
any  one.  I  say  nothing  of  the  oranges,  Malaga 
grapes,  asparagus,  artichokes,  and  every  species  of 
fruits  and  vegetables,  which  every  one  knows  are 
most  beautiful  and  delicious  in  Spain.  Nevertheless 
the  Spaniards  eat  litde,  and  although  pepper,  strong 
sauces,  and  salted  meat  predominate  in  their  kitchen, 
although  they  eat  chorizos,  which,  as  they  them- 
selves say,  levaiitan  las  piedras,  or,  in  othfer  words, 
burn  the  intestines,  they  drink  little  wine.  After 
the  fruit,  instead  of  sitting  and  sipping  a  good  bottle, 
they  ordinarily  take  a  cup  of  coffee  with  milk,  and 
rarely    drink   wine  even    in   the   morning.     At  the 


Il8  SPAIN. 

liotel  tables  d'  hote  I  have  never  seen  a  Spaniard 
empty  a  bottle,  and  I,  who  emptied  mine,  was  looked 
at  in  surprise  as  if  I  were  a  veritable  brute.  It  is  a 
rare  occurrence  in  the  cities  of  Spain,  even  on  a 
fete  day,  to  encounter  a  drunken  man,  and  for  this 
reason,  when  one  takes  into  consideration  the  fiery 
blood  and  very  free  use  of  knives  and  daggers, 
there  are  many  less  fights  which  end  in  bloodshed 
and  death  than  is  generally  believed  out  of  Spain.^ 

Having  found  board  and  lodging,  no  other  thought 
remained  than  that  of  roaming  about  the  city,  with 
my  guide-book  in  hand  and  a  cigar  worth  tJirce 
.cuartos  in  my  mouth  ;  a  task  both  easy  and  agree- 
able. 

During  the  first  few  days  I  could  not  tear  myself 
away  from  the  square  of  the  Puerto^  clel  Sol.  I 
stayed  there  by  the  hour,  and  amused  myself  so 
much  that  I  should  like  to  have  passed  the  day 
there.  ;  It  is  a  square  worthy  of  its  fame  ;  not  so 
much  on  account  of  its  size  and  beauty  as  for  the 
people,  life,  and  variety  of  spectacle  which  it  pre- 
sents at  every  hour  of  the  day.  It  is  not  a  square 
like  the  others  ;  it  is  a  mingling  of  salon,  promenade, 
theatre,  academy,  garden,  a  square  of  arms,  and  a 
market.  From  daybreak  until  one  o'clock  at  night, 
there  is  an  immovable  crowd,  and  a  crowd  that 
comes  and  eoes  through  the  ten  streets  leadinor  into 
it,  and  a  passing  and  mingling  of  carriages  which 
makes  one  giddy.  There  gather  the  merchants,  the 
disengaged  demagogues,  the  unemployed  clerks,  the 
aged  pensioners,  and  the  elegant  young  men  ;  there 
they  traffic,  talk  politics,  make  love,  promenade,  read 
the  newspapers,  hunt  down  their  debtors,  seek  their 
friends,  prepare  demonstrations  against  the  ministry, 
coin  the  false  reports  which  circulate  through  Spain, 


MADRID.  119 

and  weave  the  scandalous  gossip  of  the  city/  Upon 
the  side-walks,  which  are  wide  enousfh  to  allow  four 
carriages  to  pass  in  a  row,  one  has  to  force  his  way 
with  his  elbows.  (  On  a  single  paving  stone  you  see 
a  civil  guard,  a  match  vender,  a  broker,  a  beggar, 
and  a  soldier,  all  in  one  group.  Crowds  of  students, 
servants,  generals,  officials,  peasants,  toreros,  and 
ladies  pass ;  importunate  beggars  ask  for  alms  in 
your  ear  so  not  to  be  discovered  ;  cocottes  ques- 
tion you  with  their  eyes  ;  courtesans  hit  your  elbow ; 
on  every  side  you  see  hats  lifted,  handshakings, 
smiles,  pleasant  greetings,  cries  of  Largo  from 
laden  porters  and  merchants  with  their  wares  hung 
from  the  neck  ;  you  hear  shouts  of  newspaper  sell- 
ers, shrieks  of  water  venders,  blasts  of  the  diligence 
horns,  cracking  of  whips,  clanking  of  sabres,  strum- 
ming of  guitars,  and  songs  of  the  blind.  Then  regi- 
ments with  their  bands  of  music  pass  ;  the  king  goes 
by  ;  the  square  is  sprinkled  with  immense  jets  of 
water  which  cross  in  the  air  ;  the  bearers  of  adver- 
tisements announcing  the  spectacles,  troops  of  raga- 
muffins with  armfuls  of  supplements,  and  a  body  of 
employes  of  the  ministries,  appear  ;  the  bands  of 
music  repass,  the  shops  begin  to  be  lighted,  the 
crowd  grows  denser,  the  blows  on  the  elbow  become 
more  frequent,  the  hum  of  voices,  racket,  and  com- 
motion increase.  .  It  is  not  the  bustle  of  a  busy 
people  ;  it  is  the  vivacity  of  gay  persons,  a  carnival- 
like gaiety,  a  restless  idleness,  a  feverish  overflow  of 
pleasure,  which  attacks  you  and  forces  you  around 
like  a  reel  without  permitting  you  to  leave  the 
square  ;  you  are  seized  by  a  curiosity  which  never 
wearies,  a  desire  to  amuse  yourself,  to  think  of  noth- 
ing! to  listen  to  gossip,  to  saunter,  and  to  laugh. 
Such  is  the  famous  square,  the  PiLcrta  del  Sol. 


I20  SPAIN. 

An  hour  passed  there  is  sufficient  to  enable  one 
to  know  by  sight  the  people  of  Madrid  in  its  various 
aspects.  The  common  people  dress  as  in  our  large 
cities  ;  the  gentlemen,  if  they  take  off  the  cloak 
which  they  wear  in  winter,  copy  the  Paris  models  ; 
and  are  all,  from  the  duke  to  the  clerk,  from  the 
beardless  youth  to  the  tottering  old  man,  neat, 
adorned,  pomaded,  and  gloved,  as  if  they  had  just 
issued  from  the  dressing-room.  They  resemble  the 
Neapolitans  in  this  regard,  with  their  fine  heads  of 
hair,  well-kept  beards,  and  small  hands  and  feet.  It 
is  rare  to  see  a  low  hat ;  all  wear  high  ones,  and 
there  are  canes,  chains,  trinkets,  pins,  and  ribbons  in 
their  button-holes  by  the  thousand.  The  ladies, 
with  the  exception  of  certain  fete  days,  are  also 
dressed  like  the  French  ;  the  women  of  the  middle 
class  still  wear  the  mantilla,  but  the  old  satin  shoes, 
\.\-\Q  peine  fa,  and  bright  colors, — the  national  costume, 
in  a  word,  has  disappeared.  They  are  still,  however, 
the  same  little  women  so  besung  for  their  great  eyes, 
small  hands,  and  tiny  feet,  with  their  very  black  hair, 
but  skin  rather  white  than  dark,  so  well  formed, 
erect,  lithe,  and  vivacious. 

In  order  to  hold  a  review  of  the  fair  sex  of  Mad- 
rid, one  must  go  to  the  promenades  of  the  Pi'-ado, 
which  is  to  Madrid  what  the  Cascine  are  to  Florence. 
The  Prado,  properly  speaking,  is  a  very  broad  ave- 
nue not  very  long,  flanked  by  minor  avenues, 
which  extends  to  the  east  of  the  city,  at  one  side  of 
the  famous  oarden  of  the  Btten  retiro,  and  is  shut  in 
at  the  two  extremities  by  two  enormous  stone  foun- 
tains, the  one  surmounted  b)- a  colossal  Cybele,  seated 
upon  a  shell,  and  drawn  by  water-horses  ;  the  other 
by  a  Neptune  of  equal  size  ;  both  of  them  crowned 
with  copious  jets  of  water,  which  cross  and  grace- 


MADRID.  121 

fully  fall  again  with  a  cheerful  murmur.  This  great 
avenue,  hedged  in  on  the  sides  by  thousands  of 
chairs  and  hundreds  of  benches  belon^inof  to  water- 
and  orange-venders,  is  the  most  frequented  part  of 
the  Prado,  and  is  called  the  Salon  of  the  Prado.  But 
the  promenade  extends  beyond  the  fountain  of  Nep- 
tune ;  there  are  other  avenues,  fountains,  and  statues  ; 
one  can  walk  among  trees  and  jets  of  water  to  the 
Church  of  Nuestra  Senora  de  Atocha,  the  famous 
church,  overloaded  with  gifts  by  Isabella  II  after  the 
assault  of  February  2,  1 852,  in  which  King  Amadeus 
went  to  visit  the  body  of  General  Prim. 
/  From  here  one  takes  in,  with  a  glance,  a  vast  tract 
of  the  deserted  country  about  Madrid  and  the  snowy 
mountains  of  the  Guadarrama.  But  the  Prado 
is  the  most  famous,  not  the  largest  or  most  beautiful 
of  the  city.  On  the  extension  of  the  Salon,  beyond 
the  fountain  of  Cybele,  stretches  out  for  nearly  two 
miles  the  promenade  of  Recoletos,  flanked  on  the 
right  by  the  vast  and  smiling  suburb  of  Salamanca, 
the  suburb  of  the  rich,  the  deputies,  and  poets  ;  on 
the  left,  by  a  very  long  chain  of  little  palaces,  villas, 
theatres,  and  new  buildings  painted  in  bright  colors. 
It  is  not  a  single  promenade,  but  ten,  one  beside 
the  other,  and  each  more  beautiful  than  its  prede- 
cessor. There  are  carriage  drives,  roads  for  eques- 
trians, avenues  for  people  who  seek  a  crowd,  avenues 
for  those  who  desire  solitude,  divided  by  endless 
hedges  of  myrtle,  flanked  and  interrupted  by 
gardens  and  groves,  in  which  rise  statues  and  foun- 
tains, and  mysterious  paths  intersect  each  other. 
On  fete  days  one  enjoys  an  enchanting  spectacle 
there :  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  avenues, 
there  are  the  processions  of  people,  carriages,  and 
horses  ;    in  the  Prado  one  can   scarcelv  walk ;  the 


122  SPAIN. 

gardens  are  crowded  with  thousands  of  boys  ;  the 
orchestras  of  the  day  theatres  are  playing  ;  on  every 
side  one  hears  the  murmur  of  fountains,  the  rusthng 
of  dresses,  the  cries  of  children,  the  tread  of  the 
horses.  It  is  not  alone  the  movement  and  the 
gaiety  of  a  promenade,  but  the  luxury,  noise,  con- 
fusion and  feverish  joy  of  a  fete.  The  city,  at  that 
hour,  is  deserted.  At  twilight  all  that  immense 
crowd  rushes  back  into  the  great  Street  Alcala,  and 
then  from  the  fountain  of  Cybele  to  the  P2icida  del 
Sol  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  a  sea  of  heads,  ploughed 
by  a  line  of  carriages  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach. 
^  As  regards  promenades,  theatres,  and  spectacles, 
Madrid  is,  without  doubt,  one  of  the  first  cities  of 
the  world.  \  Beside  the  Opera  House,  which  is  very 
large  and  rich  ;  beside  the  theatre  for  comedy,  the 
theatre  of  the  Zarziida,  and  the  Madrid  Circus,  all 
of  which  are  of  tlie  first  order  in  regard  to  size,  ele- 
gance, and  the  concourse  of  people,  there  is  a  col- 
lection of  minor  theatres  for  dramatic  and  equestrian 
companies,  musical  associations,  Vcuidevillcs ,  drawing- 
room  theatres,  and  those  with  boxes  and  galleries, 
large  and  small,  aristocratic  and  plebeian,  for  every 
purse,  for  every  taste,  and  for  all  hours  of  the  night, 
and  there  is  not  one  among  them  which  is  not 
crowded  every  evening.  Then  there  is  the  Cock- 
Circus,  the  Bull-Circus,  the  popular  balls  and  the 
games  ;  some  days  there  are  twenty  different  enter- 
tainments, beginning  from  mid-day  until  nearly  dawn. 
The  opera,  of  which  the  Spanish  people  are  very 
fond,  is  always  superb,  not  only  during  the  Carnival, 
but  throughout  all  seasons."  While  I  was  at  Madrid, 
Fricci  sang  at  the  theatre  of  the  Zarziicla  and  Stagno 
at  the  Hippodrome,  each  supported  by  fine  artists,  ex- 
cellent orchestras  and  magnificent  properties.     The 


MADRID.  123 

most  celebrated  singers  in  the  world  make  every 
effort  to  sing  in  the  capital  of  Spain  ;  the  artists 
there  are  sought  after  and  feted  ;  (the  passion  for 
music  is  the  only  one  which  equals  that  for  the  bulls.  ) 
The  theatre  for  comedy  is  also  much  in  voo-ue. 
Statzembuch,  Breton  de  los  Herreros,  Tamayo, 
Ventura,  D'Ayala,  Guttierrez,  and  many  other 
dramatic  writers,  some  dead  and  some  living,  noted 
even  out  of  Spain,  have  enriched  the  modern  theatre 
with  a  great  number  of  comedies,  which,  even  though 
not  possessing  that  true  national  stamp  which  ren- 
dered immortal  the  dramatic  works  of  the  great  cen- 
tury of  Spanish  literature,  are  full  of  fire,  wit,  and 
spiciness,  and  incomparably  more  healthful  in  tone 
than  the  French  comedies.  Yet  though  the  modern 
dramas  are  represented  the  old  ones  are  not  forgot- 
ten :  On  the  anniversaries  of  Lopez  de  la  Vega,  Cal- 
deron,  Moreto,  Tirso  de  Molina,  Alarcon,  Francesco 
de  Rojas,  and  the  other  great  lights  of  the  Spanish 
theatre,  their  masterpieces  are  represented  with 
great  pomp.  The  actors,  however,  do  not  succeed 
in  satisfying  the  authors  ;  they  have  the  same  defects 
as  ours,  such  as  superfluous  movement,  ranting, 
and  sobbing, — and  many  prefer  ours,  because  they 
find  in  them  greater  variety  of  inflection  and  accent. 
Beside  the  tragedy  and  the  comedy,  a  dramatic 
composition,  thoroughly  Spanish,  is  represented,  i.e., 
the  zainete,  in  which  a  certain  Ramon  de  la  Cruz 
was  master.  It  is  a  species  of  farce,  which  is,  for  the 
greater  part,  a  representation  of  Andalusian  costumes 
with  personages  taken  from  the  country  and  lower 
classes,  and  actors  who  imitate  with  wonderful 
cleverness  the  dress,  accent,  and  manners  of  that 
people.  The  comedies  are  all  printed  and  read  with 
great  avidity,  even   by  most  ordinary  persons  ;   the 


y; 


124  SPAIN. 

names  of  the  writers  are  very  popular  ;  the  dramatic 

Hterature,  in  a  word,  is  still  to-day,  as  was  the  case 

in  former  times,  the  richest  and  most  diffuse. 

There  is,  too,  a  o:reat  ras^e  for  the  Zarzitda,  which 

•  1  •  1     • 

is   usually   represented  in   the    theatre  to   which   it 

gives  its  name,  and  is  a  composition  something 
between  comedy  and  melodrama,  between  the  opera 
and  Vaudeville,  with  a  pleasing  alternation  of  prose 
and  verse,  of  recitation  and  song,  of  the  serious  and 
comic  ;  a  composition  exclusively  Spanish  in  char- 
acter and  most  entertaining.  In  other  theatres  they 
represent  political  comedies,  intermingled  with  song 
and  prose  in  the  style  of  Scalvini's  review ;  satirical 
farces  are  the  subjects  of  the  day, — a  species  of  aiitos 
sacravientales,  with  scenes  from  the  passion  of  Jesus 
Christ,  during  Holy  Week  ;  and  balls,  silly  dances, 
and  pantomimes  of  every  description.  At  the  small 
theatres  three  or  four  representations  are  given  dur- 
ine  the  evening,  from  one  hour  to  another,  and  the 

•  T  1 

spectators  change  at  every  representation.  In  the 
famous  Capellanes  theatre  they  dance  every  evening 
of  the  year  a  caji-  can,  scandalous  beyond  the  most 
obscene  imagination, and  there  gather  the  fast  young 
men  and  women,  old  libertines  with  wrinkled  noses, 
armed  with  spectacles,  eye-glasses,  opera-glasses, 
and  every  kind  of  optical  instrument  which  serve  to 
bring  nearer,  as  Aleardi  would  say,  the  forms 
advertised  on  the  stage. 

After  the  theatre,  one  finds  all  the  cafes  full  of 
people,  the  city  illuminated,  and  the  streets  filled 
with  carriages,  just  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  even- 
ing. Upon  coming  out  of  the  theatre,  in  a  foreign 
country,  one  is  a  trifle  sad.  So  many  beautiful 
creatures  have  we  seen,  not  one  of  whom  deigned  to 
bestow  upon  us  a  glance  !     But  an  Italian  at  Madrid 


MADRID.  125 

finds  one  comfort.  Italian  operas  are  almost  always 
sung,  and  in  Italian,  so  that  on  returning  home  you 
hear  hummed  in  the  words  of  your  own  language 
the  airs  which  have  been  familiar  to  you  since  your 
infancy  ;  you  hear  a  palpito  here,  a  Jiero  genitor 
there,  a  trcvienda  vendetta  further  on,  and  these 
words  produce  the  same  effect  as  the  greeting  of  a 
friend.  But  in  order  to  reach  home,  what  a  thick 
hedge  of  petticoats  you  must  pass  !  The  palm  is 
given  to  Paris,  and  undoubtedly  she  merits  it;  but 
Madrid  is  not  to  be  laughed  at,  and  what  daring, 
what  words  of  fire,  what  imperious  provocations ! 
Finally  you  arrive  at  your  house,  but  you  have  not 
the  door  key. 

'  Do  not  give  yourself  any  uneasiness,"  says  the 
first  citizen  whom  you  meet.  "Do  you  see  that 
lantern  at  the  end  of  the  street  ?  The  man  who  is 
carrying  it  is  a  sereno,  and  the  serenos  have  the  keys 
of  all  the  houses." 

Then  you  cry  out:  ''Sereno!"  The  lantern 
approaches,  and  a  man  with  an  enormous  bunch  of 
keys  in  his  hand,  after  giving  you  a  scrutinizing 
glance,  opens  the  door,  lights  you  to  the  first-floor, 
and  wishes  you  good  night.  In  this  way,  by  the  pay- 
ment of  one  lira  a  month,  you  are  relieved  from  the 
annoyance  of  carrying  the  house  keys  in  your  pock- 
ets every  evening.  The  j'^2^2£  is  an  employe  of 
the  municipality  :  there  is  one  for  every  street,  and 
each  carries  a  whistle.  If  the  house  takes  fire,  or 
thieves  break  in,  you  have  only  to  rush  to  the  win- 
dow and  cry:  ''Sereno!  Help!"  The  sereno  who  is 
in  the  street  whistles ;  the  serenos  in  the  neiehborinof 
streets  blow  their  whistles,  and  in  a  few  moments 
all  the  serenos  in  the  quarter  run  to  your  assistance. 
At  whatever  hour  of  the  night  you  wake,  you  hear 


1 26  SPAIN. 

the  voice  of  the  sereno,  who  announces  it  to  you, 
adding  that  the  weather  is  fine,  that  it  rains,  or  that 
it  is  going  to  rain.  How  many  things  the  night- 
watchman  knows,  and  how  many  he  never  reveals  ! 
How  many  subdued  farewells  he  hears!  How  many 
little  notes  he  sees  drop  from  the  window  ;  how 
many  keys  fall  on  the  pavement ;  how  many  hands, 
making  mysterious  motions,  in  the  air  ;  how  many 
muffled  lovers  stealing  through  little  doorways  ; 
lighted  windows  suddenly  obscured,  and  dark  figures 
gliding  along  the  walls  at  the  first  streak  of  dawn  !  j 

I  have  only  spoken  of  the  theatres.  (At  Madrid 
there  is  a  concert^jevery  day,  one  might  say  :  concerts 
in  the  theatres,  in  the  academy  halls,  in  the  streets, 
and  then  a  crowd  of  straggling  musicians,  who  deafen 
you  at  every  hour  of  the  day.  After  all  this,  one 
has  a  right  to  ask  how  it  happens  that  a  people,  so 
infatuated  with  music  that  it  is  as  necessary  to  them 
as  the  air  they  breathe,!  might  say,  have  never  given 
any  grand  master  to  this  art.  The  Spanish  refuse  to 
be  comforted  on  the  subject ! 

Much  paper  could  be  covered  in  attempting  to 
describe  the  great  suburbs,  gates,  promenades  out- 
side the  city,  the  squares,  and  historical  streets  of 
Madrid  ;  and  any  one  not  wishing  to  omit  anything 
would  speak  of  the  superb  cafes  :  the  Imperial  in 
the  square  of  the  Pucrta  del  Sol,  the  Fornos  in  the 
street  Alcala,  which  are  two  immense  halls  in  which, 
if  the  tables  were  removed,  a  squadron  of  cavalry 
could  exercise ;  and  innumerable  others,  that  one 
meets  at  every  step,  in  which  a  hundred  couple  could 
easily  dance.  Then  the  gorgeous  shops  that  occupy 
the  ground-floor  of  immense  buildings,  among  which 
are  the  stores  of  Havana  tobacco  (a  rendezvous  for 
the  aristocrats)  filled  with  cigars,  small,  large,  huge, 


MADRID.  127 


round,  flat,  pointed,  shaped  like  snakes,  arches,  and 
hooks,  in  every  form,  suited  to  every  taste  and  purse  ; 
enough,  in  fact,  to  content  the  wildest  fancy  of 
smokers  and  intoxicate  the  entire  population  of  a 
city.  Then  there  are  spacious  markets,  barracks  for 
an  army,  the  great  royal  palace,  in  which  the  Ouirinal 
and  Pitti  could  hide  themselves  without  fear  of  dis- 
covery ;  the  great  street  of  Atocha,  which  crosses 
the  city  ;  the  immense  garden  of  the  Buen  Retiro, 
with  its  large  lake,  its  heights  crowned  with  kiosks, 
its  thousand  birds  of  passage.  But  above  every 
thing  else,  the  Naval  Museum  and  those  for  arms  and 
paintings  merit  so  much  attention  that  one  might 
dedicate  a  volume  to  each  of  them. 

"The  Madrid  armory  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
in  the  world. \  As  you  enter  the  immense  hall,  your 
heart  gives  a  leap,  the  blood  surges  through  your 
veins,  and  you  stand  as  motionless  at  the  portal  as 
one  who  has  lost  his  reason.  /^An  entire  army  of 
cavalry,  clad  in  armor,  with  swords  in  their  hands, 
lances  in  rest,  gleaming  and  formidable,  dash  toward 
you  like  a  legion  of  spectres.  It  is  an  army  of  em- 
perors, kings,  dukes,  in  the  most  superb  armor  that 
has  ever  issued  from  the  hands  of  man,  upon  which 
falls  a  torrent  of  light  from  eighteen  enormous  win- 
dows, and  this  draws  from  the  metal  a  gleam  of  rays, 
sparks,  and  colors  that  fairly  make  one  giddy..  The 
walls  are  covered  with  cuirasses,  helmets,  bows, 
guns,  swords,  halberds,  tournament  lances,  immense 
'muskets,  and  gigantic  lances,  which  reach  from  the 
floor  to  the  ceiling ;  from  the  ceiling  hang  the  ban- 
ners of  all  the  armies  of  the  world,  trophies  of  Le- 
panto,  San  Quintino,  the  War  of  the  Independence, 
and  those  of  Africa,  Cuba,  and  Mexico ;  on  every 
side  there  is  a  profusion  of  glorious  ensigns,  illus- 


128  SPAIN. 

trious  arms,  marvellous  works  of  art,  effigies,  em- 
blems, and  immortal  names^  [One  does  not  know 
where  to  begin  to  admire,  and  runs,  at  first,  here 
and  there,  looking  at  every  thing,  and  seeing  noth- 
ing, and  really  weary  before  having  fairly  com- 
menced one's  task.  In  the  centre  of  the  hall  is  the 
equestrian  armor,  with  horses  and  cavaliers  ranged 
in  a  row,  by  twos  and  threes,  all  turning  in  the  same 
direction,  like  the  column  of  a  squadron  ;  and  one 
distinguishes,  at  first  sight,  among  others,  the  armors 
of  Philip  II,  Charles  V,  Philibert  Emanuel,  and  Chris- 
topher Columbus.  Here  and  there,  on  pedestals, 
one  sees  helmets,  casques,  morions,  collars,  and 
bucklers,  belonging  to  the  kings  of  Arragon,  Cas- 
tile, and  Navarre,  finished  in  fine  relief  of  silver, 
representing  battles,  scenes  from  mythology,  sym- 
bolical figures,  trophies,  and  grotesque  garlands  ; 
some  of  them  of  inestimable  value,  the  work  of  the 
most  distinguished  artists  of  Europe  ;  others  of 
strange  shapes,  overladen  with  ornaments,  tufts, 
vizors,  and  colossal  crests  ;  then  small  helmets  and 
cuirasses  of  young  princes,  together  with  swords 
and  shields,  donated  by  popes  and  monarchs.  In 
the  midst  of  the  equestrian  armor,  one  sees  statues 
clothed  in  the  fantastic  costumes  of  Indians,  Afri- 
cans, and  Chinese,  ornamented  with  feathers  and 
bells,  with  bows  and  quivers  ;  frightful  warlike 
masks  ;  costumes  of  mandarins  of  woven  gold  and 
silk.  Along  the  walls  are  other  pieces  of  armor  ; 
that  of  the  Marquis  of  Pescara,  the  poet  Garcilaso 
of  Vega,  the  Marquis  of  Santa  Cruz,  the  gigantic 
one  of  Frederick  the  Magnanimous,  Duke  of  Saxony  ; 
and  among  one  and  another  Arabian,  Persian,  and 
Moorish  banners,  that  are  falling  to  pieces.  In  the 
glass   cases-  is  a  collection  of  swords,  which    make 


MADRID.  129 

you  shudder  when  you  hear  the  names  of  those  who 
wielded  them  :  such  as  those  belonging  to  the  Prince 
of   Conde,   Isabella    the   Catholic,    Philip    II,  Ferdi- 
nand Cortes,  the  Count  Duke  of  Olivares,  John  of 
Austria,    Gonzalez    of  Cordova,    Pizarro,  the    Cid  ; 
and,  a  little  farther  on,  are  the  helmet  of  King  Boab- 
dil   of  Granada,  the   buckler  of  Francis   I,  and  the 
camp-chair  of  Charles  V.     In  a  corner  of  the  room 
are  ranged  the  trophies  of  the  Ottoman  armies  :  hel- 
mets  studded  with  gems,  spurs,  gilded  stirrups,  the 
collars  of  slaves,  daggers,  scimetars  in  velvet  sheaths, 
circlets  of  gold,  embroidered  and  covered  with  pearls  ; 
the  spoils  of  Ali  Pacha,  who  was  killed  on  the  flag- 
ship, at  the  batde  of  Lepanto  ;  his  caftan  of  gold  and 
silver  brocade,   his   belt,   sandals,   and    shield  ;     the 
spoils  of  his  sons,  and  the  banners  torn   from  the 
galleys.    On  another  side  are  votive  crowns,  crosses, 
and    necklaces,    belonging    to    Gothic    princes.     In 
another    compartment    are   objects   taken   from   the 
Indians  of  Mariveles,  the   Moors   of  Cagayan   and 
Mindano,   and    from    savages    of  the    most   distant 
oceanic  islands  :    such  as   necklaces   of  snail  shells, 
pipes  of  wooden  idols,  reed  flutes,  ornaments  made 
from  the  feet  of  insects,  slaves'  robes  made  of  palm 
leaves,  written  leaves  which  served  as   safeguards, 
poisoned  arrows,  and  executioners'   hatchets.     And 
then,  on  every  side  one  turns,  there  are  the  saddles 
of  kings,  coats  of  mail,  culverins,  historical    drums, 
sashes,   inscriptions,    mementos    and    images   of  all 
times  and  countries,  from  the  fall   of  the   Goths  to 
the  battle  of  Teuan,  from  Mexico  to  China ;  a  col- 
lection  of  treasures    and    masterpieces,   which    one 
leaves    dazed,  moved,  and   exhausted,  to   return   to 
self-consciousness  later  (as  if  coming  out  of  a  dream), 
with  one's  memory  wearied  and  confused. 


130  SPAIN. 

f  If  on  some  future  day  a  great  Italian  poet  shall 
desire  to  sing"  of  the  discovery  of  the  new  world,  in 
no  place  can  he  obtain  more  powerful  inspiration 
than  in  the  Naval  Museum  of  Madrid,  because  in  no 
place  does  one  feel  more  deeply  the  virginal  at- 
mosphere of  the  wild  America  and  the  mysterious 
presence  of  Columbus.  \  There  is  a  room  called  the 
cabinet  of  the  discoverers  :  the  poet,  on  entering  it, 
if  he  really  possess  the  soul  of  a  poet,  will  uncover 
his  head  in  reverence.  In  whatever  portion  of  the 
room  the  eye  falls,  one  sees  some  image  that  stirs 
the  heart ;  one  is  no  longer  in  Europe,  nor  in  the 
present  century,  but  in  the  America  of  the  i5th 
century ;  one  breathes  that  air,  sees  those  places,  and 
feels  that  life.  In  the  centre  is  a  trophy  of  arms 
taken  from  the  natives  of  the  discovered  territory  ; 
shields  covered  with  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  jave- 
lins of  cane  with  plumed  notches,  wooden  sabres  in 
osier  scabbards,  their  hilts  ornamented  with  manes 
and  hair  falling  in  long  bunches  ;  canes,  poles,  and 
enormous  clubs,  great  swords  indented  like  a  saw, 
shapeless  sceptres,  gigantic  quivers,  clothes  of  mon- 
key skin,  daggers  of  kings  and  executioners,  arms 
belonging  to  the  savages  of  Cuba,  Mexico,  New 
Caledonia,  the  Carolinas,  and  the  most  remote  islands 
of  the  Pacific,  black,  strange  and  horrible,  which 
awaken  in  one's  mind  confused  visions  of  terrible 
struggles,  in  the  mysterious  obscurity  of  virginal 
forests,  within  interminable  labyrinths  of  unknown 
trees.  And  round  about  these  spoils  of  a  savage 
country  are  the  images  and  mementos  of  the  con- 
querors :  here  the  portrait  of  Columbus  ;  there,  that 
of  Pizarro  ;  beyond,  that  of  Ferdinand  Cortes  ;  on 
one  wall  the  map  of  America,  drawn  by  Giovanni  de 
la  Cosa,  during  the  second  voyage  of  the  Genoese, 


MADRID. 


I^I 


on  a  broad  canvas  covered  with  figures,  colors,  and 
signs,  which  were  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  for 
the  expeditions  into  the  interior  of  the  territories  ; 
near  the  canvas,  is  a  piece  of  the  tree  under  which 
the  conqueror  of  INIexico  reposed  during  the  famous 
"  N'otte  triste,"  after  he  had  opened  his  path  through 
the  immense  army  which  awaited  him  in  the  valley 
of  Otumba  ;  then  a  vase  taken  from  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  near  which  the  celebrated  Captain  Cook  died  ; 
imitations  of  boats,  barks,  and  rafts  used  by  the 
savages  ;  a  collection  of  portraits  of  illustrious  navi- 
gators. Then,  in  the  middle  portion,  there  is  a  large 
picture  which  represents  the  three  ships  of  Chris- 
topher Columbus, — the  Nina,  the  Pinta,  and  the 
Sa7ita  Maria,  at  the  moment  in  which  American 
soil  appears,  and  all  the  sailors,  erect  on  the  poops, 
waving  their  arms,  and  uttering  loud  cries,  salute 
the  new  world  and  give  thanks  to  God.  There 
are  no  words  which  express  the  emotion  that  one 
experiences  at  the  sight  of  that  spectacle,  nor  tears 
worth  that  which  trembles  in  one's  eye  at  that  in- 
stant, nor  human  soul  which,  in  that  moment,  does 
not  feel  itself  more  grand  ! 

The  other  rooms,  which  are  ten  in  number,  are 
also  full  of  valuable  objects.  In  the  room  next  the 
cabinet  of  the  discoverers,  are  gathered  the  memen- 
tos of  the  battle  of  Trafalgar  ;  the  picture  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  which  was  in  a  little  room  in  the  poop  of 
the  ship  Real  Trinidad,  and  which  was  taken  from 
the  English  a  few  moments  before  the  ship  sank  ; 
the  hat  and  sword  of  Gravina,  admiral  of  the  Spanish 
fleet,  who  died  that  day  ;  a  large,  complete  model 
of  the  ship  Santa  Anna,  one  of  the  few  which  came 
out  of  the  batde  ;  and  banners,  portraits  of  ad- 
mirals, and  pictures   representing  incidents   of  that 


132  SPAIN. 

tremendous  struggle.  Besides  the  mementos  of  Tra- 
falgar, there  are  many  others  which  do  not  appeal 
less  strongly  to  the  soul,  such  as  a  chalice  made 
from  the  wood  of  a  tree  called  Ceiba,  under  whose 
shade  the  first  mass  was  celebrated  at  Havana,  on 
the  19th  of  March,  iSiq  ;  the  cane  of  Captain  Cook  ; 
Indian  idols,  and  stone  chisels  with  which  the  In- 
dians of  Porto  Rico  fashioned  their  idols  before  the 
discovery  of  the  island.  Beyond  this  room  is  an- 
other large  one,  upon  entering  which  one  finds  one's 
self  in  the  midst  of  a  fleet  of  galleys,  caravelas,  fe- 
luccas, brigantines,  corvettes,  and  frigates, — boats,  in 
fact,  of  every  country  and  every  century,  armed, 
beflagged,  and  provisioned,  that  only  seem  to  be 
waiting  for  the  wind  to  set  sail  and  scatter  over  the 
world.  In  the  other  rooms,  there  is  a  collection  of 
engines,  tools,  and  naval  arms  ;  of  pictures  represent- 
ing all  the  maritime  enterprises  of  the  Spanish  peo- 
ple ;  of  portraits  of  admirals,  navigators,  and  sailors  ; 
of  trophies  from  Asia,  America,  Africa,  Oceanica, 
piled  up  and  crowded  together,  so  that  one  ought  to 
pass  them  on  a  run  in  order  to  see  every  thing  be- 
fore the  niofht  overtakes  him.  (  On  cominof  out  of  the 
Naval  Museum,  it  seems  like  returning  from  a  voy- 
age around  the  world,  so  fast  has  one  lived  during 
those  few  hours. 

/  Besides  this,  there  is,  at  Madrid,  a  large  Artillery 
(Museum,  an  immense  Museum  of  Engineering,  an 
Archeological  Museum,  and  a  noteworthy  Museum 
of  Natural  History  ;  then  there  arc  a  thousand  other 
thinijfs  worth  seeing',  but  one  must  sacrifice  the  de- 
scription  of  them  to  that  of  the  marvellous  picture- 
gallery.) 

The  day  on  which  one  enters   for  the  first  time   a 
gallery  like  that  of  Madrid,  becomes  a  marked  one 


MADRID.  133 

in  the  life  of  a  man  ;  it  is  an  important  event  like 
marriage,  the  birth  of  a  child,  or  the  coming  into  an 
inheritance  ;  for-  one  feels  the  effects  of  it  to  the  day 
of  his  death.  (And  this  is  the  reason  why  galleries 
like  those  of  Madrid,  Florence,  and  Rome,  constitute 
a  world  in  themselves  ;  a  day  passed  among  their 
walls  is  like  the  year  of  a  life,  a  year  stirred  by  all  the 
passions  which  vary  a  real  life,  such  as  love,  religion, 
love  of  country,  and  glory  ;  a  year  for  that  which  is 
enjoyed  in  it,  for  that  which  one  learns  in  it,  for  that 
comfort  which  is  extracted  from  it  for  the  future  ;  a 
year  in  which  a  thousand  volumes  are  read,  a  thou- 
sand sensations  are  experienced,  and  a  thousand  ad- 
ventures encountered.  These  thoughts  revolved  in 
m)'  mind  as  I  rapidly  approached  the  picture-gallery, 
situated  at  the  left  of  the  Prado  (for  any  one  coming 
from  the  street  Alcala)  ;  and  such  was  the  pleasure 
I  felt,  that  on  reaching  the  door  I  stopped  and  said 
to  myself :  "  Let  us  see  !  what  have  you  done  dur- 
ing your  life  to  deserve  the  privilege  of  entering  here  ? 
Nothing  !  Very  well  ;  on  the  day  when  some  mis- 
fortune comes  to  you,  bow  your  head  and  feel  that 
}ou  are  quits  with  Fate." 

I  entered,  and  involuntarily  raised  my  hat  :  My 
heart  was  beating  and  a  shiver  ran  from  head  to  foot. 
In  the  first  rooms  there  are  only  a  few  large  pictures 
of  Luca  Giordano.  I  passed  on.  In  the  second  room 
I  was  no  longer  myself,  and  instead  of  beginning  to 
look  at  the  pictures  one  by  one,  I  postponed  the  ex- 
amination until  later,  and  made  the  tour  of  the  gallery 
almost  running.  In  the  second  room  are  the  pictures 
of  Goya,  the  last  great  Spanish  painter  ;  in  the  third, 
which  is  as  large  as  a  square,  are  the  masterpieces 
of  the  great  masters.  On  entering,  you  find,  on  one 
side,  the  Virgins,  of  Murillo  ;  on  the  other,  the  Saints, 


1 34  SPAIN. 

of  Ribera;  a  little  farther  on,  the  portraits  of  Velasquez ; 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  are  the  pictures  of  Raphael, 
Michael  Angelo,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Titian,  Tintoretto, 
Paul  Veronese,  Correggio,  Domenichino,  and  Guido 
Reni.  Turn  back  ;  enter  a  large  room  on  the  right, 
and  you  see  at  the  end  other  pictures  of  Raphael ; 
on  the  right  and  left  Velasquez,  Titian,  and  Ribera  ; 
near  the  door  Rubens,  Van  Dyck,  P"ra  Angelico,  and 
Murillo.  In  another  room  the  French  school  :  Pous- 
sin,  Duguet,  Lorrain  ;  in  two  other  large  ones  the 
walls  are  covered  with  pictures  of  Breughel,  Teniers, 
Jordaens,  Rubens,  Diirer,  Schoen,  Mengs,  Rem- 
brandt, and  Bosch.  In  three  others,  of  the  same 
size,  are  a  quantity  of  pictures  of  Joanes,  Carbajal, 
Herrera,  Luca  Giordano,  Carducci,  Salvator  Rosa, 
Menendez,  Cano,  and  Ribera.  You  roam  around 
for  an  hour,  and  you  have  seen  nothing  ;  for  the  first 
hour  it  is  a  struggle — the  master-pieces  dispute  the 
space  in  your  soul  ;  the  Concepcion,  of  Murillo,  covers 
with  a  torrent  of  light  the  Martyrdom  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew, of  Ribera  ;  the  St.  James,  of  Ribera.  crushes 
the  St.  StepJien,  of  Joanes  ;  the  Charles  V,  of  Titian, 
fulminates  the  Co7zde  dicqtie  Olivai^es,  of  Velasquez  ; 
the  Spasimo  of  Sicily,  of  Raphael,  casts  into  the 
shade  all  the  pictures  around  it  ;  the  Drunkards,  of 
Velasquez,  disturb  with  a  reflection  of  bacchanalian 
joy  the  faces  of  the  neighboring  saints  and  princes. 
Rubens  overthrows  Van  Dyck,  Paul  Veronese  out- 
does Tiepolo,  and  Goya  kills  Madrazo  ;  the  con- 
quered take  their  revenge  upon  their  inferiors  ;  else- 
where they  supersede,  in  their  turn,  their  conquerors. 
It  is,  in  fact,  a  rivalry  of  miracles  of  art,  in  the 
midst  of  which  your  resdess  soul  trembles  like  a  flame 
stirred  by  a  thousand  breezes,  and  )^our  heart  ex- 
pands in  a  feeling  of  pride  for  the  power  of  human 
genius. 


MADRID.  135 

When  the  first  enthusiasm  has  passed,  one  begins 
to  admire.  In  the  midst  of  an  army  of  such  artists, 
each  one  of  whom  might  claim  a  vokime  in  himself, 
I  confine  myself  to  the  Spaniards,  and  among  these, 
to  four  who  aroused  my  profoundest  admiration,  and 
whose  canvases  I  remember  most  distinctly. 

The  most  recent  is  Goya,  born  toward  the  middle 
of  the  last  century.  He  is  the  most  thoroughly 
Spanish  painter  oi  toreros,  peasants,  smugglers,  mas- 
sacres, thieves,  the  War  of  the  Independence,  and 
that  ancient  Spanish  society  which  was  dissolved 
under  his  eyes.  He  was  a  fiery  Arragonese,  with 
an  iron  temperament,  passionately  found  of  bull- 
fights, so.  much  so  that,  during  the  last  years  of  his 
life,  while  residing  at  Bordeaux,  he  went  once  a 
week  to  Madrid  for  no  other  purpose  than  that  of 
witnessing  these  spectacles,  and  he  left  there  like  an 
arrow,  without  even  salutinof  his  friends.  He  was  a 
robust,  sharp,  imperious,  and  fulminating  genius, 
who,  in  the  heat  of  his  violent  inspirations,  covered 
in  a  few  moments  with  figures  a  wall  or  a  canvas, 
and  gave  the  effective  touches  with  whatever  hap- 
pened to  fall  under  his  hand — sponges,  besoms,  or 
sticks  ;  who  in  tracing  the  face  of  a  hated  person  in- 
sulted it ;  who  painted  a  picture  as  he  would  have 
fought  a  battle.  He  was  a  very  bold  designer,  an 
original  and  a  powerful  colorist,  a  creator  of  an 
inimitable  style  of  painting,  of  frightful  shadows, 
mysterious  lights,  and  of  extraordinary  but  veritable 
semblances  ;  he  was  a  great  master  in  the  expression 
of  all  terrible  emotions,  of  anger,  hatred,  desperation, 
and  sanguinary  rage  ;  an  athletic,  warlike,  and,  inde- 
fatigable painter  ;  a  naturalist,  like  Velasquez  ;  fan- 
tastic, like  Hogarth  ;  energetic,  like  Rembrandt ; 
the  last  flame-colored  flash  of  Spanish  genius. 


136  SPAIN, 

There  are  several  of  his  pictures  in  the  Madrid 
gallery,  among  which  is  a  very  large  one,  represent- 
ing all  the  family  of  Charles  IV  ;  but  the  two  into 
which  he  threw  all  his  soul  are  :  the  French  soldiers 
shooting  the  Spaniards  on  the  second  of  May,  and  a 
struggle  of  the  people  of  Madrid  with  the  Marmadukes 
of  Napoleon  I,  all  life-size.  They  are  two  pictures 
which  make  one  shudder.  Nothing  more  tremendous 
can  be  imagined  :  one  can  give  no  more  execrable 
form  to  power,  nor  frightful  aspect  to  desperation,  nor 
a  more  ferocious  expression  to  the  fury  of  a  fray.  In 
the  first  one,  there  is  a  dark  sky,  the  light  of  a  lan- 
tern, a  pool  of  blood,  a  pile  of  bodies,  a  crowd  of 
men  condemned  to  death,  and  a  line  of  French  sol- 
diers in  the  act  of  firing  ;  in  the  other  are  horses, 
with  their  veins  cut,  and  horsemen  dragged  from 
their  saddles,  stabbed,  trodden  upon,  and  lacerated. 
What  faces  !  what  attitudes  !  one  seems  to  hear  the 
cries,  and  see  the  blood  running ;  the  veritable 
scene  could  not  cause  more  horror.  Goya  must 
have  painted  those  pictures  with  his  eyes  glaring, 
foam  at  his  mouth,  and  with  the  fury  of  a  demoniac ; 
it  is  the  last  point  which  painting  can  reach  before 
being  translated  into  action  ;  having  passed  that 
point,  one  throws  away  the  brush,  and  seizes  the 
dagger  ;  one  must  commit  murder  in  order  to  do 
anything  more  terrible  than  those  pictures  ;  after 
those  colors,  comes  blood. 

Of  the  pictures  of  Ribera,  whom  we  know  under 
the  name  of  Spagnoldto,  there  are  a  sufficient  num- 
ber to  form  a  gallery  ;  the  greater  part  of  them  are 
figures  of  saints,  life-size  ;  a  massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, containing  many  figures,  and  a  colossal 
Prometheus,  chained  to  a  rock.  Other  pictures  of 
his  are  to  be  found  in  other  galleries,  at  the  Escurial, 


MADRID.  137 

and  in  the  churches,  as  he  was  fruitful  and  laborious, 
like  all  the  Spanish  artists.  After  seeing  one  of  his 
pictures,  one  recognizes,  at  a  glance,  all  the  others  ; 
and  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  the  eye  of  an  expert 
to  do  this.  There  are  old,  emaciated  saints,  with  . 
bald  heads,  who  are  perfectly  nude,  and  Avhose  very 
veins  can  be  counted  ;  they  have  Hollow  eyes,  flesh- 
less  cheeks,  wrinkled  foreheads,  sunken  chests, 
which  allow  the  ribs  to  be  seen,  and  arms  that  are 
only  skin  and  bones  ;  attenuated  and  decaying 
bodies,  clothed  in  rags,  yellow  with  that  deathly  hue 
of  corpses,  terribly  covered  with  sores,  and  bleed- 
ing ;  they  are  carcasses  that  seem  to  have  been 
dragged  from  the  bier,  bearing  on  their  faces  the 
imprint  of  all  the  spasms  of  illness,  torture,  hunger, 
and  insomnia  ;  they  are  figures  of  the  anatomical 
table,  from  which  one  could  study  all  the  secrets  of 
the  human  organism.  They  are  admirable ;  yes,  for 
boldness  of  design,  vigor  of  color,  and  for  the  thou- 
sand other  virtues  which  procured  for  Ribera  the 
fame  of  a  powerful  painter,  but  this  is  not  true,  great 
art!  In  those  faces  one  does  not  find  that  celestial 
light,  that  immo7'tal  I'ay  of  the  soul,  which  reveals, 
with  sublime  suffering,  sublime  aspirations,  and  the 
?ccret  flashes,  and  immense  desires,  that  light  which 
draws  the  eye  from  the  sores,  and  raises  the  thoughts 
to  heaven  ;  there  is  nought  but  the  cruel  pain  which 
inspires  repugnance  and  terror ;  there  is  only  weari- 
ness of  life,  and  the  presentiment  of  death  ;  there  is 
nothing  save  human  life,  which  is  fleeing  away,  with- 
out the  reflection  of  that  immortal  one  which  is  be- 
ginning. There  is  not  one  of  those  saints  whose 
image  is  recalled  with  pleasure ;  one  looks  at  them, 
is  chilled  to  the  heart,  but  the  heart  keeps  on  beat- 
ing ;  Ribera  never  loved.     Yet  in  passing  through 


138  SPAIN. 

the  rooms  of  the  gallery,  despite  the  intense  feeling 
of  repugnance  Avhich  many  of  the  pictures  aroused 
in  me,  I  was  forced  to  look  at  them,  and  could  not 
take  my  eyes  from  them,  so  great  is  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  true,  even  though  it  be  displeasing ; 
and  Ribera's  pictures  are  so  true  to  life  !  I  recog- 
nized those  faces  ;  I  had  seen  them  in  the  hos- 
pitals, mortuary  chambers,  and  behind  the  doors 
of  churches  ;  they  are  faces  of  beggars,  dying  per- 
sons, and  of  those  condemned  to  death,  which  ap- 
pear before  me  at  night,  even  to-day,  in  going 
through  a  deserted  street,  passing  a  cemetery,  or 
climbing  an  unknown  staircase.  There  are  several 
of  them  at  which  one  cannot  look  ;  a  hermit,  quite 
nude,  who  is  stretched  on  the  ground,  and  seems  a 
skeleton  with  skin  ;  an  old  saint,  to  whom  the 
wasted  flesh  gives  the  appearance  of  a  flayed  body, 
and  the  Prometheus,  with  his  bowels  starting  out  of 
the  chest.  Blood,  lacerated  members,  and  agony 
pleased  Ribera  ;  he  must  have  enjoyed  representing 
pain  ;  he  must  have  believed  in  a  hell  more  horrible 
than  that  of  Dante,  and  in  a  God  more  terrible  than 
that  of  Philip  II.  in  the  gallery  at  Madrid  he  rep- 
resents religious  terror,  old  age,  suffering,  and 
death. 

The  great  Velasquez  is  gayer,  more  varied,  and 
more  superb.  Almost  all  his  masterpieces  are 
there.  They  are  a  world  in  themselves  ;  everything 
is  depicted  :  war,  the  court,  the  cross-road,  the  tav- 
ern, and  paradise.  It  is  a  gallery  of  dwarfs,  imbe- 
ciles, beggars,  buffoons,  drunkards,  comedians,  kings, 
warriors,  martyrs,  and  deities  ;  all  li\'ing  and  speak- 
ing, in  novel  and  bold  attitudes,  with  serene  faces 
and  a  smile  on  their  lips,  full  of  frankness  and  vigor. 
There  is  a  large  portrait   of  Count  Duke  de  Olivares 


MADRID.  139 

on  horseback,  the  celebrated  picture  de  las  Meninas^ 
that  of  the  Weavers,  that  of  the  Revellers,  that  of 
the  Forge  of  Vulcan,  that  of  the  Surrender  of  Breda, 
huge  canvases  full  of  figures,  some  of  whose  slight- 
est points,  once  seen,  one  remembers  distinctly,  such 
as  a  motion  or  a  shadow  on  a  face,  iust  like  livincr 
persons,  met  at  present  ;  people  with  whom  one 
seems  to  have  talked,  of  whom  one  thinks  a  long 
time  afterward  as  of  acquaintances  of  some  un- 
known period  ;  people  who  inspire  gaiety,  and  rouse 
with  admiration  a  smile,  and  make  one  almost  ex- 
perience a  feeling  of  regret  that  one  can  only  enjoy 
them  with  the  eyes,  that  one  cannot  mingle  with 
them,  or  attain  a  little  of  that  exuberant  life.  It  is 
not  the  effect  of  the  favorable  anticipation  to  which 
the  name  of  the  great  artist  gives  rise,  one  need  not 
be  a  connoiseur  of  art  to  enjoy  them  ;  the  poor 
woman  and  the  boy  stop  before  those  pictures,  clap 
their  hands,  and  laugh.  It  is  nature  depicted  with  a 
surprising  fidelity  ;  one  forgets  the  painter,  does  not 
think  of  the  art,  nor  does  he  discover  the  aim,  but 
exclaims  :  "  It  is  true  !  it  is  thus  !  It  is  the  imaofe  I 
had  in  my  mind  !  "  One  would  say  that  Velasquez 
had  put  none  of  his  ideas  into  it,  that  he  had  al- 
lowed his  hand  to  do  as  it  chose,  and  that  the  hand 
had  done  nothing  but  fasten  upon  the  canvas  the 
lines  and  colors  of  an  optical  camera,  which  repro- 
duced the  real  personages  whom  he  was  depicting. 
More  than  sixty  of  his  pictures  are  in  the  gallery  at 
Madrid,  and  if  one  saw  them  hastily  but  once,  not 
one  of  them  would  be  forgotten.  It  is  the  case 
with  the  pictures  of  Velasquez  as  it  is  with  the 
romance  of  Alessandro  Manzoni,  which,  after  read- 
ing it  ten  times,  becomes  so  interlaced  and  confused 
with   our  particular  recollections,   that  we  seem  to 


I40  SPAIN. 

have  lived  througJi  it.  .  Thus  the  personages  in  the 
pictures  of  Velasquez  mingle  in  the  crowd  of  the 
friends  and  acquaintances  (absent  and  present)  of 
our  entire  life,  and  present  themselves  to  our  minds, 
and  hold  converse  with  us,  without  our  even  re- 
membering that  we  have  seen  them  painted. 

Now  let  us  talk  of  Murillo  in  the  eentlest  tone  of 
voice  that  is  possible.  In  art  Velasquez  is  an  eagle  ; 
Murillo  an  angel.  We  admire  the  former  and  adore 
the  latter.  His  canvases  make  him  known  as  if  he 
had  lived  with  us.  He  w^as  handsome,  eood,  and 
pious  ;  many  knew  not  where  to  touch  him  ;  around 
his  crown  of  glory  he  bore  one  of  love.  He  was 
born  to  paint  the  sky.  Fate  had  given  him  a  peace- 
ful and  serene  genius,  which  bore  him  heavenward 
on  the  wings  of  a  placid  inspiration  ;  and  yet  his 
most  admirable  pictures  breathe  an  air  of  modest 
sweetness,  which  inspires  sympathy  and  affection 
even  before  wonder.  A  simple  and  noble  elegance 
of  outline,  an  expression  full  of  vivacity  and  grace, 
an  ineffable  harmony  of  color  are  the  points  which 
strike  one  at  first  sight,  but  the  longer  one  looks  at 
them,  the  more  one  discovers  in  them,  and  astonish- 
ment is  transformed,  little  by  little,  into  a  sweet  feel- 
ing of  gladness.  His  saints  have  a  benign  expres- 
sion that  cheers  and  consoles  one  ;  his  angels, 
whom  he  groups  with  a  marvellous  mastery,  make 
one's  lips  tremble  with  the  desire  to  kiss  them  ;  his 
virgins,  clothed  in  white  and  enveloped  in  their  blue 
mantles,  with  their  great  black  eyes,  their  folded 
hands,  so  willowy,  slight,  and  aerial  in  appearance, 
make  one's  heart  tremble  with  sweetness  and  one's 
eyes  fill  with  tears.  He  combines  the  truth  of  Vel- 
asquez with  the  vigorous  effects  of  Ribera,  the  har- 
monious   transparency    of  Titian,  and    the    brilliant 


MADRID.  141 

vivacity  of  Rubens.     Spain  gave  him  the   name   of 
the  Painter  of  the  Conccpcions ,  because  he   was   in- 
superable in  the  art  of  representing  this  divine  idea. 
There  are  four  great  Concepciojis  in  the  Madrid   gal- 
lery.    I  passed  half  days  before  those  four   pictures, 
quite  motionless  and  almost  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.     I 
was  most  completely  carried  away  by   that   one  in 
which  only  a   part   of  the   figure    is  given,  with  the 
arms    folded    over    the    breast     and    the   half-moon 
across  the  waist.     Many   place    this    one   after   the 
others.    I  trembled  in  hearing  this  said,  because  I  was 
seized  with  inexplicable  passion  for  that  face.     More 
than  once  in  looking  at  it,  I  felt  the  tears   coursing 
down  my  cheeks.     Standing  before  that  picture  my 
heart  softened,  and  my  mind  rose  to  a  height  wdiich 
it  had  never  attained  before.     It  was  not  the  enthu- 
siasm of  faith  ;  it  was  a  desire,  a  limitless  aspiration 
toward  faith,  a  hope  which  gave   me   glimpses   of  a 
nobler,  richer,  more  beautiful  life  than  I  had  hitherto 
led  ;  it  was  a  new  feeling  of  prayerfulness,  a   desire 
to  love,  to  do  good,  to  suffer  for  others,  to  expiate, 
and  ennoble   my    mind    and    heart.     I    have    never 
been  so  near  believing  as  at  that  time  ;   I  have  never 
been  so  good  and  full  of  affection,  and   I  fancy  that 
my  soul  never  shone  more  clearly  in  my  face  than 
then. 

The  Virgin  of  Sorrows,  St.  Anna  teaching  the 
Virgin  to  read,  The  Crncifixion  of  Christ,  the  An- 
minciation,  the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds,  the  Holy 
Family,  the  Virgin  of  the  Rosary,  and  the  infant 
Jesus,  are  all  admirable  and  beautiful  pictures  of  a 
soft  and  quiet  coloring  which  goes  to  the  soul.  One 
ought  to  see  on  Sunday  the  boys,  girls,  and  women 
of  the  people  before  those  figures,  see  how  their 
faces  brighten,  and  hear  the  sweet  words  which  issue 


142  SPAIN. 

from  their  lips.  Murillo  is  a  saint  to  them  ;  they 
utter  his  name  with  a  smile,  as  if  to  say  :  "  He  be- 
longs to  us !  "  and  in  doing  so  look  at  you  as  if  to 
impose  an  act  of  reverence  upon  you.  The  artists 
do  not  all  hold  the  same  opinion  regarding  him  ;  but 
they  love  him  above  every  one  else,  and  do  not 
succeed  in  separating  this  love  from  their  admira- 
tion. Murillo  is  not  only  a  great  painter,  but  has 
a  great  soul ;  is  more  than  a  glory  ;  is,  in  fact,  an  ob- 
ject of  affection  for  Spain  ;  he  is  more  than  a  sov- 
ereign master  of  the  beautiful,  he  is  a  benefactor,  one 
who  inspires  good  actions,  and  a  lovely  image  which 
is  once  found  in  his  canvases,  is  borne  in  one's 
heart  throughout  life,  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude  and 
religious  devotion.  He  is  one  of  those  men  of 
whom  an  indescribable  prophetic  sentiment  tells  us 
that  we  shall  see  them  again  ;  that  the  meeting  with 
them  is  due  to  us  like  some  prize  ;  that  they  cannot 
have  disappeared  forever,  they  are  still  in  some 
place  ;  that  their  life  has  only  been  like  a  flash  of  in- 
extinguishable light,  which  must  appear  once  more 
in  all  its  splendor  to  the  eyes  of  mortals  !  One  may 
call  these  ideas  the  errors  of  fancy  ! — but  they  are 
cherished  errors  ! 

After  the  works  of  these  four  orreat  masters,  one 
may  admire  the  pictures  of  Joanes,  an  artist  thor- 
oughly Italian  in  style,  whose  correct  drawing  and 
noliility  of  character  made  him  worthy  of  the  title, 
though  given  sotto  voce,  of  the  Spanish  Raphael. 
Not  in  art,  but  in  life,  he  resembled  Fra  Angelico 
(whose  studio  was  an  oratory  where  he  fasted  and 
did  penance),  and  he,  too,  before  beginning  work, 
went  to  take  the  communion.  Then  there  are  the  pic- 
tures of  Alonzo  Cano  ;  those  of  Pacheco  (Murillo's 
master);  those  of   Pareja,  a  slave  of  Velasquez  ;   of 


MADRID.  143 

Navarrate  the  Mute  ;  of  Menendez,  a  great  flower- 
painter  ;  of  Herrera,  Coello,  Carbajal,  Collantes,  and 
Rizi.  There  is  little  work  of  Zurbaran,  one  of  the 
greatest  Spanish  painters,  who  is  worthy  of  a  place 
beside  the  three  first.  The  corridors,  ante-chambers, 
and  passage-rooms  are  full  of  the  pictures  of  other 
artists,  inferior  to  those  already  mentioned,  but  still 
admirable  for  different  merits.  But  this  is  not  the 
only  picture-gallery  of  Madrid  ;  there  are  a  hundred 
pictures  in  the  Academy  of  San  Fernando,  in  the 
ministry  of  the  Fomento,  and  in  other  private  gal- 
leries. It  would  require  months  and  months  to  see 
every  thing  well ;  and  would  it  not  take  the  same 
lentrdi  of  time  to  describe  them,  even  if  one  had 
sufficient  talent  to  do  so  ?  One  of  the  most  power- 
ful writers  of  France,  who  was  a  passionate  admirer 
of  painting  and  a  great  master  of  description,  when 
he  was  put  to  the  test,  became  frightened,  and  not 
knowing  any  other  way  of  evading  the  difficulty, 
said  there  would  be  too  much  to  say  on  the  subject ; 
so  if  he  considered  it  best  to  be  silent,  it  seems  as  if  I 
may  have  said  too  much  already.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  dolorous  consequences  of  a  charming  journey, 
this  finding  one's  mind  full  of  beautiful  images,  and 
the  heart  a  tumult  of  intense  emotions,  and  only  be- 
ing able  to  give  expression  to  so  small  a  portion  of 
them  !  With  what  profound  disdain  I  could  tear  up 
these  pages  when  I  think  of  those  pictures !  Oh, 
Murillo  ;  oh,  Velasquez  ;  oh,  poor  pen  of  mine  ! 

A  few  days  after  I  had  arrived  at  Madrid,  I  saw, 
for  the  first  time,  coming  out  from  AlcaM  into  the 
square  of  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  King  Amadeus,  and  I 
experienced  as  great  a  pleasure  in  this  as  if  I  had 
met  again  one  of  my  intimate  friends.  It  is  a  curi- 
ous sensation  that  of  finding  one's  self  in  a  country 


144  SPALV. 

where  the  only  person  one  knows  is  the  king.  One 
has  almost  the  desire  to  rush  after  him,  crying  : 
"  Your  majesty!  it  is  I.  I  have  come." 
Don  Amadeus  followed  at  Madrid  the  habits  of 
his  father.  He  rose  at  daybreak  and  went  to  take  a 
walk  in  the  gardens  of  the  Moro,  which  extend  be- 
tween the  royal  palace  and  the  Manzanares,  or  be- 
took himself  to  the  museum,  traversing  the  city  on 
foot  accompanied  only  by  an  aide-de-camp.  Las 
criados  (maid-servants)  on  returning  home  quite 
breathless  with  their  full  baskets,  related  to  their 
sleepy  mistresses  that  they  had  met  him,  that  he  had 
passed  so  near  that  they  could  have  touched  him, 
and  the  republican  house-keepers  would  say  :  Asi 
debe  hacer;  and  the  Carlists,  with  a  grimace,  mur- 
muring :  Que  clase  de  rey  /  (What  kind  of  a  king  is 
he  !)  or,  as  I  once  heard  :  He  is  determined  that 
some  one  shall  shoot  him  !  On  returning  to  the 
palace  he  received  the  captain -general  and  the  gover- 
nor of  Madrid,  who,  in  accordance  with  an  old  cus- 
tom, were  obliged  to  present  themselves  to  the  king 
every  day  to  ask  him  if  he  had  no  order  to  give  to 
the  army  or  the  police.  Then  followed  the  minis- 
ters. Besides  seeing  them  all  once  a  week  in  coun- 
cil, Amadeus  received  one  of  them  every  day. 
When  the  minister  had  taken  his  departure,  the 
audience  began.  Don  Amadeus  gave  an  audience 
of  one  hour  at  least,  and  sometimes  two,  every  day. 
The  demands  were  innumerable,  and  the  object  of 
the  demands  easy  to  imagine  :  assistance,  pension, 
employment,  privileges,  and  crosses  ;  the  king  re- 
ceived all. 

The  queen,  too,  received,  although  not  every  day, 
on  account  of  the  uncertain  state  of  her  health.  All 
the  works  of  benevolence   fell  to   her   lot.     She  re- 


MADRID.       -  145 

ceived,  in  the  presence  of  a  major-domo  and  a  lady- 
in-\vaitine,  at  the  same  hour  as  the  kine,  all  sorts  of 
people, — ladies,  workmen,  and  women  of  the  people, 
listening  with  pity  to  the  long  stories  of  poverty  and 
suffering.  She  distributed  more  than  one  hundred 
thousand  lire  a  month  in  charity,  without  counting 
extra  donations  to  alms-houses,  hospitals,  and  other 
benevolent  institutions  ;  some  of  these  she  founded 
herself.  On  the  bank  of  the  Manzanares,  in  sight  of 
the  royal  palace,  in  an  open  and  cheerful  locality,  one 
sees  a  little  house  painted  in  bright  colors,  sur- 
rounded by  a  garden,  from  which,  in  passing,  one 
hears  the  laughter,  shouts,  and  cries  of  children. 
The  queen  had  it  built  as  a  resort  for  the  little  chil- 
dren of  the  laundresses,  who,  while  their  mothers 
were  working,  used  to  be  left  in  the  street  exposed 
to  a  thousand  danoers.  There  are  to  be  found 
teachers,  wet-nurses,  and  servants,  who  provide  for 
all  the  needs  of  the  children  ;  it  is  a  mingling  of 
alms-house  and  school.  The  expenditures  for  the 
construction  of  the  house  and  for  its  maintenance 
were  met  with  the  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a 
month  which  the  State  had  assigned  to  the  Duke  of 
Puglia.  The  queen  also  founded  a  hospital  for 
foundlings  ;  a  house  or  species  of  college  for  the 
children  of  the  tobacco-workers  ;  and  a  distribution 
of  soup,  meat,  and  bread  for  all  the  poor  of  the 
city.  She  went  several  times  quite  unexpectedly  to 
assist  in  the  distribution,  in  order  to  assure  herself 
that  no  abuse  was  made  of  it,  and  having  discovered 
some  roguery,  she  provided  against  any  repetition 
of  the  offense.  Besides  this,  the  Sisters  of  Charity 
received  from  her  every  month  the  sum  of  thirty 
thousand  lire  for  the  assistance  of  those  families 
who  could  not  take  advantage  of  the  soup  kitchen 


146  SPAIN. 

on  account  of  their  social  position.  It  was  difficult 
to  obtain  any  knowledge  of  the  queen's  private  acts 
of  benevolence  because  she  was  not  accustomed  to 
mention  them  to  any  one.  Little  was  known  also 
of  her  habits,  because  she  did  everything  without 
ostentation,  and  with  a  reserve  which  would  have 
appeared  almost  excessive  even  in  a  lady  in  private 
life.  Not  even  the  court  ladies  knew  that  she  went 
to  hear  the  sermon  at  San  Luis  de  Frances,  but  a 
lady  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  by  chance,  among 
her  neicrhbors.  In  her  dress  there  was  nothino^ 
that  distinguished  her  as  queen,  not  even  on  the 
days  when  the  court  dinners  were  given.  Queen 
Isabella  wore  a  great  mantle  with  the  arms  of 
Castile,  a  diadem,  ornaments,  and  the  insignia 
of  royalty  ;  Dona  Victoria,  nothing.  She  gener- 
ally dressed  herself  in  the  colors  of  the  Spanish 
flag,  and  with  a  simplicity  which  announced  the 
right  to  the  crown  much  more  effectively  than  splen- 
dor and  pomp  would  have  done.  But  Spanish  gold 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  simplicity,  for  all  her 
personal  expenses  and  those  of  her  children  and 
maids  were  paid  with  her  own  money. 

When  the  Bourbons  were  reigning,  the  entire  pal- 
ace was  occupied.  The  king  lived  in  the  portion  on 
the  left  toward  the  Square  of  the  Orient ;  Isabella, 
in  the  part  which  looks  on  one  side  into  the  Square 
of  the  Orient,  and,  on  the  other,  into  the  Square  of 
the  Armory  ;  Montpensier  was  in  the  part  opposite 
that  of  the  queen  ;  and  the  princes  each  had  an 
apartment  toward  the  Garden  del  Moro.  At  the 
time  King  Amadeus  resided  there,  a  great  portion 
of  the  immense  edifice  remained  empty.  He  had 
only  three  small  rooms, — a  study,  a  sleeping-room, 
and   dressing-room.      The    sleeping-room    opened 


*'*\,        !- 


MADRIIX  147 

upon  a  long  hall  which  led  to  the  two  little  rooms 
of  the  princes,  near  which  was  the  apartment  of 
the  queen,  who  would  never  be  separated  from  her 
children.  Then  there  was  a  drawing-room  for  re- 
ceptions. All  this  portion  of  the  palace  which 
served  as  a  dwelling  for  the  entire  royal  family,  was 
formerly  occupied  by  Queen  Isabella  alone.  When 
she  learned  that  Don  Amadeus  and  Dona  Victoria 
had  been  contented  with  so  small  a  space,  she  is 
said  to  have  exclaimed,  with  surprise  : 

"  Poor  young  people  ;  they  cannot  move  there  !  " 
The  king  and  the  queen  used  to  dine  with  a 
major-domo  and  a  lady-in-waiting.  After  dinner 
the  king  smoked  a  Virginia  cigar  (if  the  detractors 
of  this  prince  of  cigars  would  like  to  know  the  fact), 
and  then  went  into  his  study  to  occupy  himself  with 
the  affairs  of  state.  He  used  to  take  many  notes, 
and  often  consulted  with  the  queen,  especially  when 
it  was  a  question  of  making  peace  between  the  min- 
isters, or  of  soothing  the  different  opinions  of  the 
heads  of  the  parties.  He  read  a  great  number  of 
magazines  of  every  kind,  anonymous  letters  which 
threatened  his  death, those  which  offered  him  advice, 
satirical  poems,  projects  for  a  social  renovation,  and, 
in  fact,  every  thing  that  was  sent  him.  About  three 
o'clock  he  left  the  palace  on  horseback,  the  trumpets 
of  the  guards  sounded,  and  a  servant  in  scarlet 
livery  followed  at  the  distance  of  fifty  paces.  To  see 
him,  one  would  have  said  that  he  did  not  know  he 
was  king  ;  he  looked  at  the  children  who  passed, 
the  signs  over  the  shops,  the  soldiers,  the  diligences, 
and  the  fountains,  with  an  almost  childish  expression 
of  curiosity.  He  traversed  the  entire  street  Alcala 
as  slowly  as  an  unknown  citizen  who  was  thinking 
of  his  own  affairs,  and  betook  himself  to  the  Prado 


148  SPAIN. 

to  enjoy  his  portion  of  the  sunshine  and  air.  The 
ministers  cried  out  against  it ;  the  Bourbon  party, 
who  were  accustomed  to  the  imposing  cortege  of 
Isabella,  said  that  he  dragged  the  majesty  of  the 
throne  of  San  Fernando  through  the  streets  ;  even 
the  servant  who  followed  him  looked  around  with  a 
mortified  air,  as  if  to  say  :  "Just  see  what  madness  ! " 
But  despite  of  what  was  said,  the  king  could  not 
assume  the  habit  of  being  afraid.  And  the  Span- 
iards, it  is  only  fair  to  say,  did  him  justice,  and  what- 
ever might  have  been  the  opinion  which  they  held 
concerning  his  mind,  conduct,  and  style  of  govern- 
ment, they  never  failed  to  add  :  "  As  far  as  courage 
is  concerned,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said." 

Every  Sunday  there  was  a  court  dinner.  The 
generals,  deputies,  professors,  academicians,  and  men 
noted  in  science  and  literature  were  invited.  The 
queen  talked  with  all  of  them  about  every  thing,  with 
a  security  and  grace  which  quite  surpassed  their  ex- 
pectations, despite  all  they  had  already  known  of  her 
intellect  and  culture.  The  people,  naturally,  in  talk- 
inof  of  what  she  knew,  were  inclined  to  exaecferation, 
and  spoke  of  Greek,  Arabic,  Sanscrit,  astronomy, 
and  mathematics.  But  it  is  true  that  she  conversed 
very  skillfully  about  things  quite  foreign  to  the  usual 
course  of  feminine  studies,  and  not  in  that  vague  and 
flippant  style  which  is  customary  to  those  who  know 
nothing  beyond  a  few  titles  and  names.  She  had 
studied  most  thoroughly  the  Spanish  language,  and 
spoke  it  like  her  own.  The  history,  literature,  and 
•customs  of  her  new  country  were  familiar  to  her; 
nothing  was  lacking  to  make  her  genuinely  Spanish 
but  the  desire  to  remain  in  Spain.  The  liberals 
grumbled,  the  Bourbon  party  said  :  "  She  is  not  our 
queen;"  but  all  of  them  nourished  a  profound  feeling 


MADRID.  149 

of  respect  for  her.  The  most  furious  newspapers 
only  said  she  was  the  luife  of  Don  Amadeus,  instead 
of  saying-  the  queen.  The  most  violent  of  the  re- 
publican deputies,  in  making  allusion  to  her  in  one 
of  his  speeches  at  the  Cortes,  could  not  do  less  than 
proclaim  her  illustrious  and  virtuous.  She  was  the 
only  person  in  the  household  whom  no  one  al- 
lowed himself  to  parody  by  speech  or  with  the  pen. 
She  was  like  a  figure  left  in  white  in  the  midst  of  a 
picture  of  wretched  caricatures. 

As  to  the  king,  it  seems  as  if  the  Spanish  press 
enjoyed  a  limitless  freedom  regarding  him.  Under 
the  safeguard  of  the  appellative  of  Savoyard,  for- 
eigner, young  courtier,  the  journals  adverse  to  the 
dynasty  said,  in  substance,  whatsoever  they  chose, 
and  said  such  charming  things !  This  one  quite 
took  it  to  heart  because  the  king  was  2cgly  in  face 
and  pi'ofile ;  that  one  was  annoyed  because  he  had 
such  a  stilted  gait ;  a  third  found  fault  with  his  man- 
ner of  returning  a  salute  ;  and  various  other  trifles 
which  could  hardly  be  credited.  Notwithstanding 
this,  however,  the  people  in  Madrid  felt  for  him  if  not 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  Stcfani  TelcgrapJiic  Agency,  at 
least  a  very  lively  sympathy.  The  simplicity  of  his 
habits,  and  his  goodness  of  heart,  were  proverbial 
even  among  children.  It  was  known  that  he  re- 
tained no  feeling  of  rancor  toward  any  one,  not  even 
toward  those  who  had  behaved  badly  to  him; 
that  he  had  never  been  guilty  of  a  discourteous  act 
to  any  one  ;  and  that  he  had  never  allowed  a  bitter 
word  to  escape  his  lips  against  his  enemies.  To 
any  one  who  would  speak  of  the  personal  dangers 
he  ran,  any  good  man  of  the  people  would  reply 
most  disdainfully  that  the  Spanish  respect  those  who 
have  faith  in  them.     His  most  acrimonious  enemies 


1 50  SPAIN. 

spoke  of  him  with  anger,  but  not  with  hatred  ;  even 
those  who  did  not  raise  their  hats  when  meeting  him 
in  the  street  feh  their  heart-strings  tighten  in  seeing 
that  others  did  not  do  it  either,  and  they  could  not 
conceal  a  feeling  of  sadness.  There  are  pictures^  of 
fallen  kings  over  which  is  drawn  a  black  curtain  ; 
others  which  are  covered  with  a  white  veil  that 
makes  them  appear  more  beautiful  and  more  worthy 
of  veneration  ;  over  this  one  Spain  has  stretched  the 
white  veil.  And  who  knows  whether  on  some  future 
day  the  sight  of  this  image  will  not  draw  from  the 
breast  of  every  honest  Spaniard  a  secret  sigh,  like 
the  recollection  of  a  dear  one  who  has  been  offended, 
or  of  the  peaceful,  benignant  voice  which  says  in  a 
tone  of  sad  reproach  :  "  Yet — thou  hast  done 
wrong ! " 

One  Sunday  the  king  held  a  review  of  all  the 
voluntarios  de  la  libertad,  who  are  a  sort  of  Italian 
national  guard,  with  this  difference,  that  those  lend 
their  aid  spontaneously,  and  these  never  render  it, 
even  by  force.  The  voluntarios  were  to  draw  them- 
selves up  in  line  along  the  avenues  of  the  Prado, 
and  an  immense  crowd  was  awaiting  them.  When 
I  arrived  there  were  three  or  four  batallions  already 
assembled.  The  first  was  a  batallion  of  veterans, 
men  in  the  fifties,  and  not  a  few  of  them  very  old, 
dressed  in  black,  wearing  the  cap  a  la  Ros,  with 
galloons  above  galloons,  crosses  above  crosses,  as 
neat  and  gleaming  as  the  scholars  of  an  academy, 
and  in  the  proud  flashing  of  their  eyes  they  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  the  grenadiers  of  the  Old 
Guard.  Then  followed  another  battalion  with  an- 
other uniform  :  gray  trousers,  open  jacket,  folded 
back  on  the  breast  with  a  large  display  of  a  very  red 
cloth  ;  instead  of  the  Ros  caps  there  were  hats  with 


MADRID.  151 

blue  feathers,  and  bayonets  fastened  on  to  their 
muskets.  Then  a  batalHon  with  a  different  uni- 
form, and  Ros  caps  instead  of  the  other  kind.  No 
more  display  of  red  cloth,  but  with  green  in  its 
stead  ;  trousers  of  other  colors,  and  daggers  instead 
of  bayonets.  A  fourth  battalion  has  a  fourth  uni- 
form,— plumes,  colors,  arms,  and  every  thing  quite 
different.  Other  battalions  arrive  in  other  dresses. 
Some  wear  the  Prussian  helmet,  others  the  helmet 
without  the  point  ;  some  carry  bayonets,  some 
straitrht  dao^o-ers,  some  curved  ones,  and  others  still 
serpentine  ones  ;  here,  there  are  soldiers  with  cor- 
dons ;  there,  are  some  without  ;  further  on,  there  are 
cordons  again ;  then  there  are  belts,  epaulettes, 
cravats,  plumes,  and  every  thing  changes  at  every 
instant.  They  are  all  gay  and  splendid  uniforms  of 
a  hundred  colors,  with  trinkets  which  hang,  gleam, 
and  wave.  Every  battalion  has  a  different-shaped 
banner,  covered  with  embroidery,  ribbons,  and 
fringes  ;  among  others,  one  sees  militia  dressed  like 
peasants,  with  any  kind  of  a  stripe  sewed  in  long 
stitches  on  to  a  pair  of  torn  trousers  ;  some  are 
without  cravats,  others  with  black  ones,  open  waist- 
coat and  embroidered  shirt ;  there  are  boys  of  fif- 
teen and  twelve  fully  armed  among  the  lines  ;  there 
are  vivandieres  with  short  skirts  and  red  trousers, 
and  baskets  full  of  cigars  and  oranges.  In  front  of 
the  battalions  is  a  continual  running  to  and  fro  of 
mounted  officers.  Every  major  wears  on  his  head, 
on  his  breast,  or  on  his  saddle  some  ornament  of 
his  own  invention.  One  sees  galloons,  on  the  arms, 
shoulders,  around  the  neck,  of  silver,  gold,  and  wool, 
together  with  medallions  and  crosses'  so  thickly  scat- 
tered as  to  hide  half  the  breast,  placed  one  above 
the  other,  and  above  and  below  the  belt ;  there  are 


152  SFAIX. 

gloves  of  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  sabres, 
swords,  small  swords,  large  swords,  pistols,  and  re- 
volvers ;  a  mixture,  in  fine,  of  all  kinds  of  uniforms, 
arms,  and  armies,  a  variety  sufficient  to  weary  ten 
ministerial  commissioners  for  the  modification  of 
dress,  and  a  confusion  in  which  one  loses  his  head. 
I  do  not  remember  whether  there  were  twelve  or 
fourteen  battalions  ;  each  one  choosing  its  own  uni- 
form, was  obliged  to  appear  as  different  as  possible 
from  the  others.  They  were  commanded  by  the 
Syndic,  who  also  wore  a  fantastic  uniform.  At  the 
hour  fixed,  a  sudden  rushing  backward  and  forward 
of  the  officers  of  the  staff,  and  a  noisy  blast  of  the 
trumpets  announced  the  arrival  of  the  king.  Don 
Amadeus,  in  fact,  arrived  on  horseback  from  the 
street  Alcala  ;  he  was  dressed  as  captain-generaL 
with  high  boots,  white  breeches,  and  full-dress  uni- 
form. Behind  him  was  a  body  of  generals,  aides- 
de-camp,  scarlet-liveried  servants,  lanciers,  cuiras- 
siers, and  guards.  After  he  had  passed  the  entire 
line  of  soldiers,  from  the  Prado  to  the  Atocha. 
church,  amidst  a  dense  and  silent  crowd,  he  returned 
in  the  direction  of  the  street  Alcala.  At  this  point 
there  was  an  immense  multitude,  which  swayed  to 
and  fro  with  the  noise  of  the  sea.  The  king  and 
his  staff  moved  off,  and  took  their  stand  in  front  of 
the  church  of  San  Jose,  with  their  backs  to  the 
facade,  and  the  cavalry,  with  great  trouble,  suc- 
ceeded in  clearing  a  space  so  that  the  battallions 
could  file  by. 

They  passed  in  platoons.  As  they  moved  on,  at 
a  sign  from  the  cojnmander,  they  cried  :  "  Viva  el 
Rey  !    Viva  Don  Aniadeo  priinero  /  " 

The  first  ofiiccr  who  uttered  the  cry  had  an  un- 
fortunate   idea.      The   viva  shouted  spontaneously 


MADRID.  153 

by  the  first  became  a  duty  for  all  the  others,  and  was 
the  cause  of  the  public's  taking  the  greater  or  less 
force  and  harmony  of  the  voices  as  a  sign  of  political 
demonstration.  Some  of  the  platoons  gave  such  a 
short  and  weak  cheer  that  it  seemed  like  the  voice  of 
a  parcel  of  sick  men  who  were  calling  for  help  ;  then 
the  crowd  broke  out  into  a  laugh.  Other  platoons 
shouted  at  the  top  of  their  lungs,  and  their  cry  was 
taken  also  as  a  demonstration  hostile  to  the  dynasty. 
There  were  several  rumors  afloat  in  the  tightly- 
packed  crowd  around  me.  One  person  said  :  "  Now 
such  and  such  a  battalion  is  coming,  they  are  repub- 
licans ;  you  will  see  that  they  will  not  cheer."  The 
battalion  did  not  cheer  ;  the  spectators  coughed. 
Another  said  :  "  It  is  a  shame,  a  lack  of  eood  breed- 
ing  ;  Don  Amadeus  pleases  me  little,  but  I  keep 
quiet  and  respect  him." 

There  were  some  disputes,  A  young  fellow  cried, 
"  Viva,''  in  a  falsetto  voice  ;  a  caballero  called  him  im- 
pertinent ;  the  former  resented  this  ;  both  raised  their 
hands  to  strike,  and  a  third  divided  them.  Between 
the  battalions  passed  citizens  on  horseback  ;  some  of 
them  did  not  raise  their  hats,  and  did  not  even  look 
at  the  king  ;  then  one  heard  different  voices  in  the 
crowd,  crying,  "Well  done!"  or,  "What  ill  breeding !  " 
Others,  who  would  have  saluted  him,  did  not  dare 
do  so  ;  and  they  passed  with  bowed  heads  and 
blushing  faces.  Others,  on  the  other  hand,  dis- 
gusted by  the  spectacle,  braved  the  anger  of  the 
rest,  and  made  a  courageous  demonstration  in  favor 
of  Amadeus  ;  by  passing,  hat  in  hand,  looking,  now 
respectfully  at  the  king,  now  proudly  at  the  crowd, 
for  the  space  of  ten  paces.  The  king  sat  motionless 
until  the  procession  was  over,  with  an  unchaneinsf 
expression  of  serene  haughtmess.  So  ended  the  re- 
vievv'. 


1 54  SPAIN. 

This  national  militia,  although  less  disorganized 
and  worn  out  than  ours,  is  really  only  a  mask;  the 
ludicrous  has  gnawed  at  its  roots  ;  but,  as  a  diver- 
sion on  fete  days,  although  the  number  of  volunteers 
has  greatly  diminished  (once  it  amounted  to  thirty 
thousand),  it  is  always  a  spectacle  which  outdoes  all 
\h&Jiag-poles  and  red  rags  of  Signor  Ottino. 

THE    BULL-FIGHTS. 

On  the  thirtyj^rst  day  of  March,  the  spectacle 
of  the  bull-fights  was  inaugurated.  We  will  dis- 
cuss the  matter  at  our  leisure,  for  the  subject  is 
worthy  of  it.  Let  any  one  who  has  read  Baretti's 
description  of  them,  consider  that  he  has  read  noth- 
ing. Baretti  only  saw  the  fights  at  Lisbon,  and 
these  are  child's  play  in  comparison  with  those  at 
Madrid,  which  is  the  seat  of  the  art.  Here  are  the 
great  artists,  the  superb  spectacles,  the  spectators 
who  are  experts,  and  the  judges  who  bestow  the 
glory  upon  the  victorious  toreros.  The  circus  at 
Madrid  is  the  Theatre  La  Scala  for  the  art  of  bull- 
fiofhtinsf. 

The  inaucjuration  of  the  bull-fiirhts  at  Madrid  is 
decidedly  more  important  than  a  change  in  the 
ministry.  A  month  beforehand  a  notice  of  it  is  scat- 
tered all  over  Spain  ;  from  Cadiz  to  Barcelona,  from 
Bilbao  to  Almeria,  in  the  palaces  of  the  grandees,  n 
the  hovels  ot  the  poor,  they  talk  of  the  artists  and 
the  pedigree  of  the  bulls  ;  and  they  institute  fights 
for  pleasure  between  the  provinces  and  the  capital. 
He  who  is  short  of  money  begins  to  lay  aside,  so 
that  he  may  procure  a  fine  place  in  the  circus  on 
the  solemn  day.  Fathers  and  mothers  promise 
their  studious  children  to  take  them  there  ;   lovers 


MADRID.  155 

l,ave  the  same  promise  to  their  sweethearts  ;  the 
newspapers  assure  the  world  that  there  will  be  a 
fine  season  ;  the  chosen  toreros,  who  are  already  to 
be  seen  in  the  streets,  are  pointed  out.  Then  there 
are  rumors  that  the  bulls  have  arrived  ;  some  have 
seen  them,  and  others  solicit  permission  to  visit 
them.  There  are  bulls  from  the  pastures  of  the 
Duke  of  Veragua,  the  Marquis  de  la  Merced,  and 
her  Excellency,  the  widoM^  of  Villaseca,  which  are 
enormous  and  formidable.  The  subscription  office 
is  opened  ;  a  crowd  of  dilettanti,  servants  of  the 
noble  families,  brokers,  and  friends  commissioned 
by  the  absent,  flock  thither  ;  the  impresario  has  taken 
in  fifty  thousand  lire  on  the  first  day,  thirty  on  the 
second,  and,  in  a  week,  one  hundred  thousand. 
Frascuelo,  the  famous  matador,  has  arrived,  together 
with  Cuco,  and  Calderon  ;  in  fact,  they  are  all  here. 
Three  days  more  !  A  thousand  people  talk  of  noth- 
ing else  ;  there  are  ladies  who  dream  of  the  circus  ; 
ministers  who  no  longer  have  any  head  for  their 
affairs  ;  old  dilettanti  who  can  hardly  contain  them- 
selves ;  workmen,  and  poor  people,  who  do  not 
smoke  any  more  cigarritos,  in  order  to  have  a  few 
sous  for  the  day  of  the  spectacle.  Finally,  the  day 
before  arrives  :  Saturday  morning,  ere  it  is  dawn, 
they  begin  to  sell  tickets  in  a  room  on  the  ground- 
floor  in  the  street  Alcala  ;  and  a  crowd  has  gathered 
even  before  the  opening  of  the  doors ;  they  shout, 
push,  aucl  beat  each  other ;  twenty  civil  guards, 
with  revolvers  at  their  belts,  have  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  maintaining  order  ;  until  night  there  is  an 
incessant  coming  and  going.  The  longed-for  day 
arrives  ;  the  spectacle  begins  at  three  o'clock.  At 
noon  people  commence  moving  from  all  parts  of  the 
town  toward  the  circus,  which  is   at  the  end  of  the 


156  SPAIN. 

suburb  of  Salamanaca,  beyond  the  Prado,  outside  of 
the  gate  of  the  Alcala  ;  all  the  streets  leading  to  it 
are  filled  with  a  procession  of  people  ;  around  the 
edifice  there  is  a  perfect  hive  ;  a  body  of  soldiers 
and  volunteers  arrive,  preceded  by  bands  of  music  ; 
a  crowd  of  water-  and  orange-venders  fill  the  air  with 
their  cries ;  the  ticket-speculators  run  here  and  there, 
called  by  a  thousand  voices  ;  unfortunate  he  who 
has  not  got  one — ^he  will  pay  double,  triple,  quad- 
ruple for  it !  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  Fifty, 
and  even  eighty  francs,  were  paid  for  a  ticket !  The 
king  is  expected,  and  they  say  the  queen  is  coming 
too  ;  the  carriages  of  the  great  people  begin  to  ar- 
rive :  the  Duke  Fernando  Nunez,  Duke  de  Abrantes, 
Marquis  de  la  Vega  de  Armijo,  a  crowd  of  the 
grandees  of  Spain,  the  goddesses  of  the  aristocracy, 
ministers,  generals,  and  ambassadors,  all  that  is  beau- 
tiful, splendid,  and  powerful  in  the  great  city.  They 
enter  the  circus  by  many  doors  ;  but  before  getting 
in  one  is  fairly  deafened  by  the  noise. 

I  entered  ;  the  circus  is  immense.  Seen  from  the 
exterior,  there  is  nothing  noticeable  about  it,  for  it 
is  a  round  building,  very  low,  without  windows,  and 
painted  yellow ;  but  upon  entering  one  experiences 
a  feeling  of  surprise.  It  is  a  circus  for  a  nation  ;  it 
holds  ten  thousand  spectators,  and  a  regiment  of 
cavalry  could  hold  a  tournament  therein.  The  arena 
is  circular,  very  large,  and  must  make  ten  of  our 
equestrian  circuses  ;  it  is  surrounded  by  a  modern 
barrier,  alniost  as  high  as  a  man's  neck,  furnished  on 
the  inside  with  a  small  elevation  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground,  upon  which  the  toreros  place  their  feet  in 
order  to  jump  over  it  when  pursued  by  the  bull. 
This  barrier  is  followed  by  another  higher  still,  be- 
cause the  bull  often  leaps  the    first.      Between   this 


MADRID.  157 

and  the  first,  which  runs  around  the  arena,  there  is 
a  walk,  rather  more  than  a  metre  in  width,  in  which 
the  toreros  come  and  go  before  the  fight,  and  where 
stand  the  servants  of  the  circus,  the  carpenters  ready 
to  repair  any  damage  done  by  the  bull,  the  guard, 
orange-venders,  the  dilettanti  who  enjoy  the  friend- 
ship of  the  impresario,  and  the  great  personages 
who  are  allowed  to  break  through  the  rules. 
Beyond  the  second  barrier,  rise  rows  of  stone  seats  ; 
beyond  these,  boxes  ;  under  the  boxes  rises  a  gal- 
lery, occupied  by  three  rows  of  benches.  The  boxes 
are  large  enough  to  hold  two  or  three  families  each. 
The  king's  box  is  a  great  drawing-room.  Beside 
that  of  the  king  is  one  for  the  municipality,  in  which 
the  Syndic  or  his  representative  presides  at  the  spec- 
tacle. There  is  the  box  for  the  ministers, governors, 
and  ambassadors, — each  family  has  one  ;  the  young 
bloods,  as  Giusti  would  say, have  one  together;  then 
there  are  the  boxes  to  rent,  which  cost  a  fortune. 
All  the  places  on  the  stone  rows  are  numbered  ;  each 
person  has  his  own  ticket,  and  the  entrance  is 
effected  without  any  confusion.  The  circus  is  di- 
vided into  two  parts,  that  where  the  sun  strikes,  and 
that  in  the  shade  ;  in  the  latter  one  pays  more,  the 
other  is  occupied  by  the  common  people.  The 
arena  has  four  roads,  almost  equidistant  from  each 
other  :  the  one  through  which  the  toreros  enter,  that 
for  the  bulls,  that  for  the  horses,  and  that  for  the 
heralds  of  the  spectacle,  which  is  under  the  king's 
box.  Above  the  door,  where  the  bulls  enter,  rises 
a  sort  of  balcony  called  the  Toril,  and  any  one  is 
fortunate  who  obtains  a  place  here !  On  this  bal- 
cony, upon  a  bench,  stand  those  who,  at  a  sign  from 
the  box  of  the  municipality,  sound  the  trumpet  and 
drum   to  announce  the  exit  of  the  bull.     Opposite 


158  SPAIN. 

the  Toril,  on  the  other  side  of  the  arena,  on  the 
stone  terrace,  is  the  band.  This  whole  terrace  of 
seats  is  divided  into  compartments,  each  one  having 
its  own  entrance.  Before  the  spectacle  begins  the 
people  are  permitted  to  enter  the  arena  and  circulate 
through  all  the  recesses  of  the  building.  They  go 
to  see  the  horses,  kept  in  a  court-yard,  destined  for 
the  greater  part,  poor  brutes,  to  die  ;  then  to  visit 
the  dark  enclosures,  in  which  are  fastened  the  bulls, 
that  are  afterward  passed  from  one  to  the  other,  until 
they  reach  a  corridor,  through  which  they  dart  into 
the  arena;  and  then  to  look  at  the  infirmary,  whither 
the  wounded  toreros  are  carried.  Once  there  was  a 
chapel,  in  which  mass  was  celebrated  during  the 
fights,  and  the  toreros  went  there  to  pray  before 
confronting  the  bull.  One  can  also  go  near  the 
principal  door  of  entrance,  where  are  displayed  the 
baiiderillas  which  will  be  struck  into  the  bulls'  necks, 
and  where  one  sees  a  crowd  of  old  toreros,  some 
lame,  some  without  an  arm,  some  with  crutches,  and 
the  young  toreros,  who  are  not  yet  admitted  to  the 
honors  of  the  Madrid  Circus.  Then  to  buy  a  paper, 
the  Buletin  de  los  Toros,  which  promises  marvels  for 
the  day's  doings,  then  to  procure  from  the  custo- 
dians a  programme  and  a  printed  sheet,  divided  into 
columns,  on  which  to  note  the  blows  of  the  lance, 
the  thrusts,  the  falls,  and  the  wounds  ;  then  wan- 
der through  interminable  corridors  and  stairways 
among  a  crowd  who  come  and  go,  ascend  and 
descend,  shoutino-  and  makinof  noise  enoucfh  to 
shake  the  building  and  finally  one  returns  to  his 
place. 

The  circus  is  very  full,  and  offers  a  sight  of  which 
it  is  impossible,  for  any  one  who  has  not  seen  it,  to 
form   an  idea.     There  is  a  sea  of  heads,  hats,  fans, 


MADRID.  159 

hands  moving  in  the  air.  On  the  shady  side,  where 
the  nicer  people  are,  all  is  black.  On  the  sunny 
side,  where  the  lower  classes  sit,  there  are  a  thousand 
bright  colors  from  dresses,  parasols,  and  paper-fans, 
making  it  look  like  an  immense  masquerade.  There 
is  not  place  for  a  child  ;  the  crowd  is  as  compact  as 
a  phalanx  ;  no  one  can  get  out,  and  it  is  with  diffi- 
culty that  an  arm  can  be  moved.  It  is  not  as  buzz- 
ing a  noise  like  that  of  other  theatres  ;  it  is  totally 
different ;  it  is  an  agitation,  a  life  quite  peculiar  to 
the  circus.  Every  one  is  shouting,  calling,  and 
greeting  his  friends  with  a  frantic  joy.  The  children 
and  women  shriek,  the  gravest  men  behave  like  the 
younger  ones ;  the  youths,  in  groups  of  twenty  and 
thirty,  screaming  together,  and  beating  with  their 
canes  on  the  steps,  announce  to  the  representative 
of  the  municipality  that  the  hour  has  arrived.  In 
the  boxes  there  is  a  commotion  like  that  of  the 
upper  gallery  of  a  ordinary  theatre  ;  to  the  deafen- 
ing cries  of  the  crowd  are  added  the  shouts  of  a 
hundred  venders,  who  throw  oranges  around  on  all 
sides.  The  band  begins  to  play,  the  bulls  bellow, 
the  crowd  gathered  outside  becomes  noisy,  and  it  is 
really  a  spectacle  which  makes  one  giddy,  so  that 
before  the  struggle  begins  one  is  weary,  intoxicated, 
and  fairly  out  of  his  mind. 

Suddenly  a  cry  is  heard:  "The  king!"  The 
king  has  arrived ;  has  come  in  a  carriage  drawn  by 
four  white  horses,  mounted  by  servants  dressed  in 
the  picturesque  Andalusian  costume  ;  the  glass  doors 
of  the  king's  box  open,  and  his  majesty  enters  with 
a  crowd  of  ministers,  generals,  and  major-domos. 
The  queen  is  not  there  ;  that  was  foreseen,  for  every 
one  knows  she  has  a  horror  of  this  spectacle.  Oh ! 
but  the  king  would  not  miss  it ;  he  has  always  come, 


l6o  SPAIN. 

and  they  say  he  is  wild  about  it.  The  hour  has  ar- 
rived,  and  the  affair  has  begun.  I  shall  always  re- 
member the  chill  that  I  felt  in  my  veins  at  that 
point. 

The  trumpet  sounds ;  four  guards  of  the  circus, 
on  horseback,  wearing  hats  with  plumes  a  la  Henry 
IV,  a  small  black  mantle,  waistcoats,  high  boots,  and 
swords,  enter  through  the  door  under  the  royal  box, 
and  slowly  make  the  circuit  of  the  arena  ;  the  people 
disperse,  every  one  going  to  his  own  seat.  The 
four  horsemen  place  themselves,  two  by  two,  before 
the  door,  still  closed,  which  faces  the  king's  box. 
The  ten  thousand  spectators  fasten  their  eyes  upon 
that  point,  and  a  general  silence  ensues.  From  here 
enter  the  ciiadrilla  and  all  the  toi^eros  in  full  dress,  to 
present  themselves  to  the  king  and  the  people.  The 
band  strikes  up,  the  door  opens,  one  hears  a  burst 
of  applause,  and  the  toreros  advance.  First  come 
the  three  cspadas,  Frascuelo,  Lagartijo,  and  Caye- 
tano,  the  three  famous  ones,  dressed  in  the  costume 
of  Figaro  in  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,^  in  silk,  satin, 
and  velvet,  orange,  blue,  and  carnation.  They  are 
covered  with  embroideries,  galloons,  fringes,  fila- 
grees, spangles,  and  trinkets  of  gold  and  silver, 
which  almost  hide  their  dress  ;  they  are  enveloped 
in  ample  yellow  and  red  capes,  and  wear  white 
stockings,  silken  girdles,  a  bunch  of  braids  on  the 
nape  of  the  neck,  and  a  fur  cap.  After  them  come 
the  banderilleros  and  capeadorcs,  a  band,  covered  like 
their  predecessors,  with  gold  and  silver  ;  then  come 
the  picadoi'cs  on  horseback,  two  by  two,  holding 
great  lances  and  wearing  a  gray  hat,  very  low  and 
broad-brimmed,  an  embroidered  jacket,  a  pair  of 
breeches  of  yellow  buffalo-skin,  quilted  and  lined 
with   strips   of  iron  ;    then   the   chulos,   or  servants, 


MADRID.  l6l 

dressed  in  holiday  costume.  All  majestically  cross 
the  arena  toward  the  king's  box.  Nothing  more 
picturesque  can  be  imagined.  There  are  all  the 
colors  of  a  garden,  all  the  splendors  of  a  royal 
court,  all  the  gayety  of  a  troup  of  maskers,  and  all 
the  imposing  effect  of  a  band  of  warriors  ;  in  closing 
the  eyes  one  sees  nothing  but  a  gleam  of  gold  and 
silver.  They  are  very  handsome  men  :  the  picadores 
tall  and  sinewy  as  athletes  ;  the  others  slender, 
quick,  superbly  formed,  with  dark  faces  and  large 
proud  eyes  ;  figures  like  the  ancient  gladiators, 
dressed  with  the  pomp  of  Asiatic  princes. 

The  whole  ciLadrilla  stops  before  the  king's  box 
and  salutes  him  ;  the  alcade  makes  a  sign  that  they 
may  begin  ;  the  key  of  the  toril  where  the  bulls  are 
kept  is  dropped  from  the  box  into  the  arena  ;  a 
guard  of  the  circus  picks  it  up  and  places  himself 
before  the  door  ready  to  open  it.  The  body  of 
toreros  separates  ;  the  cspadas  jump  over  the  barrier  ; 
the  capeadorcs  scatter  through  the  arena,  waving 
their  red  and  yellow  capas ;  some  of  the  picadores  re- 
tire to  await  their  turn  ;  the  others  put  spurs  to  their 
horses,  and  go  to  take  their  places  on  the  left  of  the 
toiHl,  at  a  distance  of  twenty  feet  one  from  the  other, 
with  their  backs  to  the  barrier  and  their  lances  in 
their  rest.  It  is  a  moment  of  agitation  and  inex- 
pressible anxiety  ;  every  eye  is  fastened  upon  the 
door  through  which  the  bull  will  enter  ;  every  heart 
is  beating ;  a  profound  silence  reigns  throughout  the 
circus  ;  nothing  is  heard  but  the  bellowing  of  the 
bull,  Avho  advances  from  enclosure  to  enclosure,  in 
the  darkness  of  his  vast  prison,  almost  crying  : 
"Blood!  blood!"  The  horses  tremble,  t\\(t picadores 
turn  pale  ;  another  instant — the  trumpet  sounds,  the 
door  opens,  and   an  enormous  bull  dashes  into  the 


1 62  SPAIN. 

arena  -,  a  tremendous  shout  bursts  at  this  moment 
from  ten  thousand  breasts  to  greet  him,  and  the 
massacre  begins. 

Ah !  it  is  well  to  have  strong  nerves ;  for,  despite 
the  fact,  one  becomes  as  pale  as  a  ghost ! 

I  do  not  remember,  save  confusedly,  what  hap- 
pened during  the  first  few  moments ;  I  do  not  know 
where  my  head  was.  The  bull  dashed  toward  the 
first  picador,  then  retreated,  continued  his  course, 
and  dashed  against  the  second  ;  whether  a  struggle 
ensued  I  do  not  recollect ;  a  moment  afterward  the 
bull  dashed  toward  the  third,  then  ran  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  arena,  and  stopped  and  looked  around 
him. 

All  that  portion  of  the  arena  which  the  bull  had 
passed  was  streaked  with  blood  ;  the  first  horse  lay 
on  the  ground,  his  body  torn  open,  the  bowels  scat- 
tered ;  the  second,  with  the  breast  opened  by  a 
broad  wound,  from  which  blood  issued  in  floods, 
went  staofo-erinof  here  and  there  ;  the  third,  which 
had  been  thrown  down,  tried  to  rise  ;  the  clmlos 
hastened  forward,  raised  the  picadores,  took  off  the 
saddle  and  bridle  from  the  dead  horse,  and  tried  to 
put  the  wounded  one  on  his  feet  ;  and  a  horrible 
shout  resounded  on  all  sides.  This  is  the  way  the 
spectacle  generally  begins.  The  first  to  receive  the 
attack  of  the  bull  are  the  picadores,  who  await  it, 
with  a  firm  footing,  and  plant  their  lances  between 
the  heart  and  the  neck  of  the  animal,  as  he  bends 
to  strike  the  horse  with  his  horns.  The  lance,  be  it 
noted, 'has  only  a  small  point,  which  can  only  open 
a  slight  wound,  and  the  picadores  are  obliged,  by  the 
strength  of  their  arm,  to  hold  the  bull  off,  and  save 
their  horses.  For  this,  a  steady  eye,  an  arm  of 
bronze,  and  an  intrepid  heart,  are  necessary  ;  they  do 


MADRID.  163 

not  always  succeed ;  in  fact,  they  rarely  do  ;  the  bull 
plants  his  horns  in  the  horse's  belly,  and  the  pica- 
dore  falls  to  the  ground.  Then  the  capeadores  hasten 
forward,  and  while  the  bull  is  extracting  his  horns 
from  the  bowels  of  this  poor  victim,  they  wave  the 
capas  across  his  eyes,  attract  his  attention,  and  make 
him  follow  them,  and  so  save  the  fallen  horseman, 
whom  the  chidos  assist  into  his  saddle,  if  the  horse 
can  still  stand,  or  to  carry  to  the  infirmary,  if  he  has 
broken  his  head. 

The  bull,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  arena,  with 
bleeding  horns,  looked  around  him  as  if  to  say  : 
"  Have  you  had  enough?"  A  \i?iX\A  oi  capeadores 
ran  toward  him,  surrounded  him,  and  began  provok- 
ing him,  teazinof  him,  and  makin^  him  run  here  and 
there,  shaking  their  capas  m  his  eyes,  passmg  them 
over  his  head,  attracting  him,  and  flying  from  him 
with  rapid  turns,  to  come  back  and  torment  him, 
and  flee  from  him  again  ;  and  the  bull  to  follow 
them  one  after  the  other,  as  far  as  the  barrier,  and 
then  to  butt  against  the  partitions,  to  kick,  and 
caper,  bellow,  rebury  his  horns,  in  passing,  in  the 
belly  of  the  dead  horses,  try  to  leap  into  the  walk, 
and  to  run  around  the  arena.  Meanwhile,  the  other 
picador cs  entered,  to  take  the  places  of  those  whose 
horses  had  been  killed,  and  stationed  themselves, 
quite  a  distance  from  one  another,  on  the  side  of  the 
toril,  their  lances  in  rest,  waiting  for  the  bull  to  at- 
tack them.  The  capeadores  dexterously  drew  him 
to  that  side  ;  the  bull,  at  the  sight  of  the  first  horse, 
dashed  toward  him  with  lowered  head.  But  this 
time  his  assault  failed  ;  the  lance  of  the  picador  fast- 
ened itself  into  his  shoulder,  and  kept  him  back  ;  the 
bull  resisted,  struggled,  used  all  his  strength,  but  in 
vain  ;  the  picador  held  him  firmly,  the  bull  retreated, 


164  SPAIN. 

the  horse  was  saved,  and  a  loud  burst  of  applause 
greeted  the  hero.  The  other  picador  was  less  for- 
tunate :  the  bull  attacked  him  ;  he  did  not  succeed 
in  planting  his  lance,  the  formidable  horns  pene- 
trated the  belly  of  the  horse,  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
sword,  struggled  in  the  wound,  were  withdrawn,  and 
the  intestines  of  the  poor  animal  fell  out,  and  kept 
dangling  like  a  bag  nearly  to  the  ground  ;  the  pica- 
dor remained  in  his  saddle.  Here  a  horrible  sight 
was  witnessed.  Instead  of  dismounting,  on  seeing 
that  the  wound  was  not  mortal,  he  gave  spurs  to  the 
horse,  and  went  and  placed  himself  on  the  other 
side  to  await  a  second  attack.  The  horse  crossed 
the  arena,  with  the  intestines  hanging  and  hitting  its 
legs  with  every  step  ;  the  bull  followed  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  stopped.  At  that  point  the  blast  of 
a  trumpet  was  heard ;  it  was  the  signal  for  the  pica- 
dores  to  retire,  a  door  opened,  and  they  galloped 
off  one  after  the  other  ;  two  horses  were  killed,  arid, 
here  and  there,  were  streaks  and  splashes  of  blood, 
which  two  chtdos  covered  with  earth. 

After  \.h.Q  picador es  came  the  banderilleros.  For  the 
profane  this  is  the  part  of  the  spectacle  most  amus- 
ing, because  least  cruel.  The  banderillas  are  arrows, 
two  palms  in  length,  ornamented  with  colored  paper, 
furnished  with  a  metallic  point,  made  in  such  a  way 
that,  once  stuck  in  the  flesh,  they  cannot  be  de- 
tached, and  the  bull,  struggling  and  shaking  himself, 
only  drives  them  farther  in.  The  banderillcro  takes 
two  of  the  darts,  one  in  each  hand,  and  goes  and 
takes  his  stand  about  fifteen  paces  from  the  bull ; 
then  raising  his  arms,  and  shouting,  he  provokes 
him  to  the  assault.  The  bull  dashes  toward  him  ; 
the  ba^idej'-illei'o,  in  his  turn,  runs  toward  the  bull  ; 
the   latter  lowers   its  head  to  run  its  horns  into  his 


MADRID.  165 

body,  and  the  man  plants  the  bandcrillas  in  its  neck, 
one  here  and  one  there,  and,  with  a  rapid  whirl, 
saves  himself.  If  he  bends,  if  his  foot  slips,  if  he 
hesitates  an  instant,  he  will  be  pierced  like  a  toad. 
The  bull  bellows,  snorts,  leaps,  and  begins  following 
the  capcadorcs  with  a  terrible  fury  ;  in  a  moment  all 
have  sprung  into  the  walk  ;  the  arena  is  empty  ;  the 
wild  beast,  with  foaming  nostrils,  bloodthirsty  eyes, 
neck  streaked  with  blood,  stamps  the  ground,  strug- 
gles, strikes  the  barrier,  demands  revenge,  wishes  to 
kill,  and  is  thirsting  for  a  massacre  ;  no  one  attempts 
to  confront  him  ;  the  spectators  fill  the  air  with 
cries. 

"  Forward  !  courage  !  " 

The  other  bandcrillcro  advances,  plants  his  arrow, 
then  a  third,  then  once  more  the  first.  That  day 
eight  were  planted  ;  when  the  poor  brute  felt  the 
last  two,  he  uttered  a  long  bellow,  agonized  and  hor- 
rible, and  dashed  after  one  of  his  enemies,  followed 
him  to  the  barrier,  took  the  leap  with  him,  and  fell 
into  the  walk  ;  the  ten  thousand  spectators  arose  to 
their  feet  in  an  instant,  crying  :  "  He  has  killed 
him!  "  But  the  bandcrillcro\i2A  escaped.  The  bull 
ran  backward  and  forward  between  the  two  barriers, 
under  a  shower  of  blows  with  sticks  and  fists,  until 
he  reached  an  open  door  which  led  into  the  arena  ; 
the  door  was  closed  behind  as  he  passed  through  it. 
Then  all  the  banderilleros  and  all  the  capeadores 
dashed  toward  him  again  ;  one,  passing  behind  him, 
pulled  his  tail,  and  disappeared  like  lightning  ;  an- 
other, rushing  past  him,  dropped  his  capa  around  his 
horns  ;  a  third  had  the  audacity  to  go  and  take  off 
with  one  hand  the  litde  silk  ribbon  which  was  at- 
tached to  the  mane  ;  a  fourth,  bolder  than  all,  planted 
a  pole  in  the  ground  while  the  bull  was  running,  and 


1 66  SPAIN. 

took  a  leap,  passing  over  him  and  falling  on  the 
other  side,  throwing  the  pole  between  the  legs  of 
the  astonished  animal.  All  this  was  done  wath  the 
rapidity  of  magicians  and  the  grace  of  ballet-dancers, 
just  as  if  they  were  playing  w^ith  a  lamb.  Mean- 
wdiile  the  immense  crowd  made  the  circus  resound 
with  laughter,  applause,  and  cries  of  joy,  surprise, 
and  terror. 

Another  trumpet  sounds  ;  the  banderilleros  have 
finished  :  now  comes  the  espadd s  turn.  It  is  the 
solemn  moment,  the  crisis  of  the  drama  ;  the  crowd 
becomes  silent,  the  ladies  lean  out  of  their  boxes, 
the  king  rises  to  his  feet.  Frascuelo,  holding  in  one 
hand  his  sword  and  the  midcta,  which  is  a  piece  of 
red  stuff  attached  to  a  little  stick,  enters  the  arena, 
presents  himself  before  the  royal  box,  raises  his  cap, 
and  consecrates  to  the  king,  in  pronouncing  some 
poetical  phrase,  the  bull  which  he  is  going  to  kill, 
then  throws  his  cap  up  into  the  air,  as  if  to  say  : 
"  I  will  conquer  or  die  !  "  and,  followed  by  the  su- 
perb cortege  of  capcadorcs,  he  moves  with  resolute 
step  toward  the  bull.  Here  follows  a  genuine  hand- 
to-hand  struggle,  worthy  of  a  canto  by  Homer.  On 
one  side  the  animal,  with  its  terrible  horns,  its  enor- 
mous strength,  its  thirst  for  blood,  maddened  by 
pain,  blinded  by  fury,  surly,  bleeding,  and  frightful ; 
on  the  other,  a  youth  of  twenty,  dressed  like  a  bal- 
let-dancer, alone,  without  any  means  of  defense  save 
the  light  sword  in  his  hand.  But  he  has  ten  thou- 
sand glances  fastened  upon  him  !  The  king  is  pre- 
paring a  gift!  His  sweetheart  is  up  there  in  a  box 
with  her  eyesffixed  upon  him  !  A  thousand  ladies 
tremble  for  his  life !  The  Inill  stops  and  looks  at 
him  ;  he  looks  at  the  bull,  and  waves  his  red  cloth 
before   him  ;   the   bull   dashes   under   it,    the  cspada 


MADRID.  167 

Steps  aside,  the  terrible  horns  graze  his  hip,  hit  the 
cloth,  and  strike  empty  space.  A  thunder  of  ap- 
plause bursts  from  all  the  seats,  boxes,  and  galleries. 
The  ladies  look  on  with  opera-glasses,  and  cry : 
"  He  has  not  paled  !  "  Then  follows  a  silence  ;  not  a 
voice  nor  a  whisper  is  heard.  The  audacious  torero 
waves  the  mtdcta  several  times  before  the  eyes  of 
the  infuriated  animal,  passes  it  over  his  head,  be- 
tween his  horns,  around  his  neck  ;  makes  him  recede, 
advance,  turn,  jump  ;  provokes  attacks  ten  times, 
and  ten  times  by  a  slight  movement  escapes  death. 
He  lets  his  imdeta  fall,  picks  it  up  under  the  eyes  of 
the  bull,  laughs  in  his  face,  provokes  him,  insults 
him,  and  amuses  himself.  Suddenly  he  stops,  puts 
himself  on  his  guard,  raises  the  sword,  takes  aim  ; 
the  bull  looks  at  him  ;  another  instant,  and  they  will 
dash  at  each  other  ;  one  of  the  two  must  die.  Ten 
thousand  glances  run  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning 
from  the  point  of  the  sword  to  end  of  the  horns  ; 
ten  thousand  hearts  beat  with  anxiety  and  terror  ; 
every  face  is  motionless  ;  not  a  breath  is  heard  ;  the 
immense  crowd  seem  petrified, — another  instant, — 
the  moment  has  arrived!  The  bull  dashes  forward  ; 
the  man  raises  the  sword  ;  one  single  loud  cry,  fol- 
lowed by  a  burst  of  tempestuous  applause,  which 
breaks  out  on  every  side  ;  the  sword  has  been 
buried  up  to  its  hilt  in  the  neck  of  the  bull ;  the  bull 
staggers,  and,  emitting  a  torrent  of  blood  from  its 
mouth,  falls  as  if  struck  by  lightning.  The  man  has 
conquered!  Then  ensues  an  indescribable  tumult  ; 
the  multitude  seem  crazed ;  all  rise  to  their  feet, 
waving  their  hands  and  uttering  loud  shouts  ;  the 
ladies  wave  their  handkerchiefs,  clap  their  hands, 
shake  their  fans  ;  the  band  plays  ;  the  victorious 
cspada  approaches  the  barrier,  and  makes  the  circuit 
of  the  arena. 


1 68  SPAIN. 

As  he  passes,  from  the  seats,  boxes,  and  galleries, 
the  spectators,  carried  away  by  enthusiasm,  throw 
him  handfuls  of  cigars,  purses,  canes,  hats, — every 
thing,  in  fact,  upon  which  they  can  lay  their  hands. 
In  a  few  moments  the  fortunate  torero  has  his  arms 
filled  with  things,  calls  to  his  assistance  the  capeadorcs, 
throws  back  the  hats  to  their  owners,  thanks  them, 
responds  as  best  he  can  to  the  salutations,  praises, 
and  glorious  titles  which  are  showered  upon  him 
from  all  sides,  and  finally  arrives  under  the  royal 
box.  Then  all  eyes  turn  toward  the  king,  who  puts 
his  hand  into  his  pocket,  draws  out  a  cigar-case  full 
of  bank-notes,  and  throws  it  down  ;  the  torero  catches 
it  in  the  air,  and  the  multitude  burst  out  into 
applause.  Meanwhile  the  band  plays  a  funeral  air 
for  the  bull  ;  a  door  opens,  four  immense  mules, 
ornamented  with  plumes,  bows,  and  yellow  and  red 
ribbons,  driven  by  a  body  of  cJntlos  who  shout  and 
crack  their  whips,  enter  on  a  gallop,  drag  away,  one 
after  the  other,  the  dead  horses  and  then  the  bull, 
which  is  instantly  carried  into  a  neighboring  little 
square,  near  the  circus,  where  it  is  waited  for  by  a 
troop  of  ragamuffins,  who  clip  their  fingers  into  the 
blood  ;  then  it  is  skinned,  cut  up,  and  sold.  When 
the  arena  is  cleared  the  trumpets  sound,  a  drum  is 
beaten,  another  bull  dashes  out  of  the  cage,  attacks 
the  picadorcs,  tears  open  the  bellies  of  the  horses, 
offers  its  neck  to  the  baiiderillas,  is  killed  by  the 
espada ;  and  so  six  bulls  present  themselves  in  the 
arena,  one  after  the  other,  without  any  interruption. 

How  many  shocks,  how  many  shudders,  how 
many  chills  at  the  heart,  and  rushes  of  blood  to  the 
head  you  feel  during  that  spectacle !  How  many  sud- 
den pallors.  But  you, stranger,  you  alone, grow  pale; 
the  boy  who  sits  beside  you  laughs ;  the  girl  in  front 


MADRID.  169 

of  you  is  wild  with  joy  ;  the  lady  whom  you  see  in 
the  neighboring"  box  says  she  never  enjoyed  herself 
so  much  before !  What  shouts!  What  exclamations! 
That  is  the  place  to  learn  the  language  !  The  bull 
appears,  is  judged  by  a  thousand  voices  :  "  What  a 
handsome  head  !  What  eyes  !  He  will  draw  blood  ! 
He  is  worth  a  fortune  !  "  They  call  out  phrases  of 
love.  "He  has  killed  a  horse  :  Bueno  !  See  how 
much  he  has  dragged  from  the  belly  !  "  A  picador 
misses  his  aim  and  awkwardly  wounds  the  bull,  or 
hesitates  to  confront  it  ;  then  comes  a  deluge  of 
opprobrious  epithets:  "Lazy  creature!  Impostor! 
Assassin  !  Go  and  hide  yourself!  Let  yourself  be 
killed!  "  All  rise  to  their  feet,  point  their  fingers  at 
him,  shake  their  fists,  throw  orange-peel  and  the 
stubs  of  cigars  in  his  face,  and  threaten  him  with  a 
stick.  When  the  cspada  kills  the  bull  at  the  first 
blow,  then  follow  the  words  of  a  lover,  wild  with 
delight,  and  the  gestures  of  madmen  :  "  Come  here, 
angel !  God  bless  you,  Frascuelo  !  "  They  throw 
him  kisses,  call  him,  and  stretch  out  their  hands  as 
if  to  embrace  him.  What  a  profusion  of  epithets, 
bon-mots,  and  proverbs!  How  much  fire!  How 
much  life  ! 

But  I  have  said  nothing  save  of  the  doings  of  the 
bull  ;  in  an  entire  corrida  a  thousand  accidents 
occur.  During  that  day  a  bull  drove  his  head  under 
the  belly  of  the  horse,  raised  horse  and  rider,  and 
carried  them  in  triumph  across  the  arena,  and  threw 
them  on  to  the  ground  like  a  bundle  of  rags. 
Another  bull  killed  four  horses  in  a  few  moments ;  a 
third  used  a  picador  so  badly  that  he  fell,  struck  his 
head  against  the  barrier,  fainted,  and  was  carried 
away.  But  not  even  for  this,  or  yet  for  serious 
wounds,  or  even  the  death  of  a  torero  is  the  spec- 


I/O  SPAIN. 

tacle  interrupted  ;  the  programme   says  so  ;  if  one 
dies  there  is  another  ready  to  take  his  place.     The 
bull  does  not  always  attack  ;  there   are  some  cow- 
ardly ones,  who  go  toward  the  picador,  stop,  and, 
after   a   moment  of  hesitation,  run  off;   others,  after 
the  first  assault,  make  no  second  one  ;  others,  mild 
and  good  tempered,  do  not  respond  to  the  provoca- 
tions, allow  t\\&  picador  to  get  on  to  them,  permit  the 
lances  to  be  planted  in  their  necks,  retreat,  and  shake 
their  heads  as  if  to  say  :  'T  do  not  wish  to! "  fly,  and 
then  turn  suddenly  to  look  with  astonishment  at  the 
band  of  capeadorcs  who  are  following  him,  as  if  to 
ask  :  •'  What  do   you  wish  of  me  ?     What  have  I 
done   to   you  ?     Why   do    you   wish   to   kill    me  ? " 
Then  the  crowd  break  out  into  imprecations  against 
the  bull,  against  the  impresario,  against  the  toreros  ; 
and  then,  first,  the   dilettanti  of  the  ToriL  then  the 
spectators  on  the  sunny  part,  then  the  gendemen  on 
the    shady   side,    then    the    ladies,    and  finally,    all 
the  spectators  of  the   circus   cry  out  in  one  voice : 
'' Bandcrillas    de  fucgof"     The  cry   is  directed    to 
the  alcade ;  the  banderillas  of  fire  serve  to  infuriate 
the  bull.      They   are  banderillas    furnished    with  a 
cracker,    which  lights  at  the   moment   it  penetrates 
the    flesh,     and    burns    the    wound,    causing    atro- 
cious   pain,    which  stuns    and   irritates    the  animal 
to  the  point  of  changing  him   from  a  coward  into  a 
brave  creature,  and  from  a  quiet  one  into  a  fury. 
The   permission  of  the  alcaid  is  necessary  in   order 
to   use  the  banderillas  dc  fiicgo ;  if  the  alcaid  hesi- 
tates to  give  it,  all  the  spectators  rise  to  their  feet, 
and  there  is  a  wonderful  sight.     One  sees  ten  thou- 
sand handkerchiefs  waving  like  the  banners  of  ten 
regiments  of  lancers,  and  they  form  from  the  boxes 
of   the    arena,  all  around,  a  white  billowy  stratum 
under  which  the  crowd  almost  disappears :  and  ten 


MADRID.  171 

thousand  voices  cry:  ^^  Fuego !  fncgo !  fucgo!''' 
Then  the  alca.id  yields  ;  but  if  he  is  persistent  in  his 
"no,"  the  handkerchiefs  disappear,  fists  and  sticks 
are  raised,  and  curses  break  out  :  "  Don't  be  a  fool! 
Don't  spoil  our  fun !  Las  banderillas  al  alcalde. 
Fitego  al  alcalde  /  " 

The  agony  of  the  bull  is  tremendous.  Sometimes 
the  torei'o  does  not  aim  well,  and  the  sword  goes  in 
up  to  the  hilt,  but  not  in  the  direction  of  the  heart. 
Then  the  bull  begins  to  run  around  the  arena  with  the 
sword  sticking  in  his  flesh,  uttering  terrible  bellows, 
shaking  and  twisting  himself  in  a  thousand  ways,  to 
free  himself  from  that  torture  ;  and,  in  that  impetu- 
ous course,  sometimes  the  sword  flies  away;  some- 
times, it  is  driven  further  in,  and  causes  death. 
Often  the  espada  is  obliged  to  give  him  a  second 
thrust,  not  infrequently  a  third,  occasionally  a  fourth. 
The  bull  bleeds  profusely  ;  all  the  capas  of  the  cape- 
adores  are  covered  with  blood,  the  espada  is  spat- 
tered, the  barrier  besprinkled,  and  the  indignant 
spectators  overwhelming  the  torero  with  reproaches. 
Sometimes  the  bull  is  seriously  wounded,  falls  to 
the  ground,  but  does  not  die,  and  lies  there  immov- 
able, with  its  head  high,  and  menacing,  as  if  to  say  : 
"  Come  on,  assassins,  if  you  have  courage !  "  Then 
the  combat  is  finished  ;  the  agony  must  be  short- 
ened ;  a  mysterious  man  bestrides  the  barrier,  ad- 
vances cautiously,  -places  himself  behind  the  bull, 
and,  at  the  proper  moment,  gives  him  a  blow  from  a 
dagger  on  his  head,  which  penetrates  to  the  brain, 
and  kills  him.  Often  even  this  blow  does  not  suc- 
ceed :  the  mysterious  man  gives  two,  three,  four  ; 
then  the  indignation  of  the  people  breaks  loose  like 
a  tempest  ;  they  call  him  a  brute,  a  coward,  an  in- 
famous creature,  wish   his   death,  and,  if  they   had 


1/2  SPAIN. 

him  in  their  hands,  they  would  strangle  him  like  a 
dog.  At  other  times  the  bull,  wounded  mortally, 
staggers  a  little  before  falling,  slowly  withdraws 
from  the  spot  where  he  was  struck  to  go  and  die  in 
peace  in  a  quiet  corner  ;  all  the  toi'eros  follow  him 
slowly,  count  his  steps,  and  measure  the  progress 
of  his  final  agony  ;  a  profound  silence  accompanies 
his  last  moments,  and  his  death  has  something 
solemn  and  majestic  about  it.  There  are  uncon- 
querable bulls,  who  will  not  bow  their  heads  save 
in  drawing  their  last  breath  ;  bulls  which,  while 
shedding  torrents  of  blood  through  their  mouths, 
still  threaten ;  bulls  which,  pierced  by  ten  blows  of 
the  sword,  beaten  and  bloodless,  again  raise  their 
necks  with  a  superb  movement,  which  makes  the 
body  of  their  tormentors  recede  half  way  across  the 
arena  ;  bulls  which  suffer  an  agony  more  frightful 
than  their  first  fury  :  they  lacerate  the  dead  horses, 
break  the  barriers,  paw  furiously  the  capas  scattered 
over  the  arena,  leap  into  the  walk,  run  around  with 
their  heads  held  high,  looking  at  the  spectators  with 
an  air  of  defiance,  then  fall,  rise  again,  and  die  bel- 
lowing. 

The  agony  of  the  horses,  of  shorter  duration,  is 
more  painful  still.  Some  have  a  leg  broken  ;  others 
are  pierced  through  the  neck  ;  others  are  instantly 
killed,  by  a  blow  in  the  chest,  without  shedding  a 
drop  of  blood  ;  others,  seized  by  fear,  take  to  flight, 
rushing  straight  on  before  them,  and  hitting  their 
heads  with  a  terrible  shock  against  the  barriers, 
then  fall  dead ;  others  strucrifle  for  a  lonir  time,  in  a 
pool  of  blood,  before  dying  ;  others,  wounded,  bleed- 
ing, maimed,  gallop  around  in  a  frenzy,  run  toward 
the  bull,  fall  down  as  if  dead,  rise  and  fight  again 
until  they  are  carried  away  torn  to  pieces,  but  living. 


MADRID.  1 73 

Then  the  intestines  are  replaced,  the  belly  sewed 
up,  and  they  serve  again  ;  others,  frightened,  at  the 
approach  of  the  bull,  tremble  all  over,  paw  the 
ground,  recoil,  neigh,  and  do  not  wish  to  die  ;  these 
are  the  ones  which  arouse  the  most  pity.  Some- 
times a  single  bull  kills  five  ;  sometimes,  in  one 
corrida,  twenty  die,  all  the  picadores  are  covered 
with  blood,  the  arena  is  scattered  with  smoking  in- 
testines, and  the  bulls  are  tired  of  killing. 

Even  the  toreros,  have  their  disagreeable  mo- 
ments.  The  picadoi'cs  sometimes,  instead  of  fall- 
ing under  the  horse,  fall  between  the  horse  and  the 
bull ;  then  the  latter  precipitates  himself  upon  them  to 
kill  them  ;  the  crowd  utter  a  shriek,  but  a  courageous 
capeador  flings  his  capa  over  the  brute's  eyes,  and, 
imperilling  his  life,  saves  that  of  his  companion. 
Often,  instead  of  dashing  at  the  midcta,  the  bull 
rushes  at  the  cspada,  grazes  him,  strikes  him,  follows 
him,  and  forces  him  to  throw  away  his  sword,  and 
save  himself,  pale  and  trembling,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  barrier.  Sometimes  he  strikes  him  with  his 
head,  and  knocks  him  down ;  the  espada  disappears 
in  a  cloud  of  dust;  the  crowd  cry  :  "  He  is  dead  !  " 
the  bull  passes,  and  the  espada  is  saved.  Some- 
times the  bull  raises  him  with  his  head,  and  throws 
him  to  one  side.  Not  infrequently  the  bull  will  not 
let  him  take  aim  with  the  sword ;  the  matador  does 
not  succeed  in  hitting  in  front ;  and,  as  he  is  not  al- 
lowed to  wound  him,  according  to  the  law,  except 
in  a  given  place,  in  a  certain  way,  he  tries  in  vain 
for  a  long  time,  and,  growing  weary,  gets  confused, 
and  runs  the  risk  of  being  killed  a  hundred  times. 
Meantime,  the  crowd  shrieks,  hisses,  and  insults 
him  ;  until  the  poor  man,  made  desperate,  resolves 
to  slay;  or  die,  and  gives  a  blow  at  random,  which 


174  SPAIN. 

is  either  successful,  and  he  is  raised  to  heaven,  or, 
faihng,  he  is  vituperated,  derided,  showered  Avith 
orange-peel,  even  if  he  be  the  bravest,  most  intrepid, 
and  renowned  torero  of  Spain. 

In  the  crowd,  too,  during  the  spectacle,  many  ac- 
cidents occur.  From  time  to  time  a  dispute  arises 
among  two  of  the  spectators.  Pressed  together  as 
the  people  are,  some  blow  of  a  stick  hits  the  neigh- 
bors ;  the  neighbors  seize  their  canes  and  begin 
beatinof  too.  The  circle  of  beaters  enlaro-es,  the 
quarrel  extends  throughout  the  rows  of  seats  ;  in  a 
few  moments,  there  are  hats  in  the  air,  cravats  in 
pieces,  bloody  faces,  deafening  cries,  all  the  specta- 
tors on  their  feet,  the  guards  in  motion,  and  the 
tore7'os,  from  actors  become  spectators.  At  other 
times,  a  group  of  young  men  will  turn,  for  a  joke, 
all  in  one  direction  and  cry  : 

"There  he  is  !" — 

"Who?'" 

No  one  ;  but  meanwhile  the  spectators  rise,  the 
farthest  off  jump  on  to  their  chairs,  the  ladies  lean 
out  of  the  boxes,  and  in  a  moment  the  whole  circus 
is  in  disorder.  Then  the  group  of  young  men  break 
into  a  laugh  ;  their  neighbors,  in  order  not  to  appear 
like  fools,  do  the  same,  and  the  laughter  extends 
through  box  and  gallery,  and  ten  thousand  persons 
join  in  it.  Sometimes,  a  stranger,  who  sees  'the 
bull-fight  for  the  first  time,  faints  away  ;  the  news 
spreads  like  lightning,  every  one  rises,  every  one 
looks,  every  one  shouts,  and  the  greatest  tumult  is 
made.  Often  it  is  a  facetious  person  who  salutes 
his  friend  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  theatre  in  a 
voice  which  is  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  That  great 
crowd  is  stirred  in  a  few  moments  by  a  thousand 
conflicting  emotions;  it  passes  from  terror  to  cnthu- 


MADRID.  175 

siasm,  from  enthusiasm  to  pity,  from  pity  to  anger, 
from  anger  to  joy,  astonishment,  and  incontrollable 
gayety  in  ceaseless  rotation. 

The  impression,  in  fine,  that  this  spectacle  leaves 
upon  the  mind  is  indescribable  ;  it  is  a  mixture  of 
sensations  in  which  it  is  impossible  to  comprehend 
anything  clearly.  One  does  not  know  what  to  think 
of  it.  At  certain  moments,  you  are  horrified  and 
would  like  to  fly  from  the  circus,  and  you  swear 
never  to  return  there  again ;  at  others,  you  are  as- 
tonished, carried  away,  almost  intoxicated,  and  do 
not  wish  the  spectacle  ever  to  end.  Now  you  feel 
ill  ;  now,  even  you,  like  your  neighbors,  break  out 
into  a  laugh,  a  shout,  or  applause  ;  the  blood  makes 
you  shudder,  but  the  marvellous  courage  of  the  men 
rouses  you ;  the  danger  tightens  your  heart-strings,  but 
you  exult  in  the  victory  ;  little  by  little  the  fever  which 
moves  the  crowd  takes  possession  of  you ;  you  no 
longer  recognize  yourself,  you  have  become  another 
personality.  You,  too,  have  attacks  of  anger, 
ferocity  and,  enthusiasm  ;  you  feel  yourself  vigorous 
and  bold;  the  combat  fires  your  blood;  the  elancino- 
of  the  sword  makes  you  shiver;  and  then  those 
thousands  of  voices,  that  uproar,  that  music,  that 
bellowing,  that  blood,  those  profound  silences,  sud- 
den bursts  of  applause,  that  vast  space,  that  light, 
those  colors,  that  indescribable  something  so  grand, 
strong,  cruel,  and  magnificent,  bewilders,  stuns  and 
excites  you. 

It  is  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  the  people  leave  the 
circus  ;  there  are  ten  torrents  which  pour  out  of  the 
ten  doors,  and  spread,  in  a  few  moments,  through 
the  suburb  of  Salamanca,  the  Prado,  the  boulevards 
of  Recolctos,  and  the  street  Alcala  ;  thousands  of 
carriages  are  waiting  in  the  vicinity  of  the  building  ; 


1^6  SPAIN. 

for  an  hour,  from  every  direction  in  which  one  looks, 
nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  a  crowd,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach,  and  all  quiet.  Their  emotions  have  ex- 
hausted them  all  ;  only  the  sound  of  their  footsteps 
is  to  be  heard,  and  it  seems  as  if  the  multitude 
wished  to  vanish  secretly  ;  a  species  of  sadness  un- 
derlies all  the  noisy  joy  of  a  short  time  before.  I, 
for  my  part,  on  coming  out  of  that  circus  for  the 
first  time,  had  hardly  strength  enough  to  stand  ;  my 
head  whirled  like  a  top,  my  ears  buzzed ;  I  saw 
bulls'  horns  on  every  side,  with  blood-shot  eyes, 
dead  horses,  and  the  gleaming  of  swords.  I  took  the 
shortest  road  home,  and  as  soon  as  I  reached  there, 
I  jumped  into  bed  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep.  The 
following  morning  the  landlady  came  in  great  haste 
to  ask  : 

"  Well  ?  how  did  you  like  it.  Were  you  amused  ? 
Are  you  going  again  ?     What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  replied.  "  It  seems  as  if  I 
had  been  dreaming  ;  I  will  talk  to  you  of  it  later; 
I  must  think  it  over." 

Saturday  came,  the  da)^  before  the  second  bull- 
fight. 

"  Are  you  going  ?"  asked  the  landlady. 
"  No !"  I  responded,  thinking  of  something  else. 
I  went  out,  passed  through  the  street  of  Alcala, 
found  myself,  without  being  aware  of  it,  before  the 
shop  where  the  tickets  are  sold  ;  there  was  a  crowd 
of  people  ;  I  said  to  myself. 
"  Shall  I  go  ?— Yes  ?— No  ? 

"  Do  you  wish  a  ticket?"  asked  a  boy  ;  "  a  seat 
in  the  shade,  number  six,  near  the  barrier  ;  fifteen 
reales  ?" 

And  I  replied,  "  Here  !  ' 

But  in  order  to  understand  thoroughly  the  nature 


MADRID.  177 

of  this  spectacle,  it  is  necessary  to  know  something 
of  its  history.  When  the  first  biill-hght  took  place, 
there  is  no  means  of  ascertaining  with  any  certainty  ; 
tradition  narrates,  however,  that  it  was  the  Cid  Cam- 
pcador  who  was  the  first  cavalier  to  descend  with 
the  lance  into  the  arena,  and  kill,  on  horseback,  the 
formidable  animal.  From  that  time  to  this,  young 
nobles  dedicated  themselves  with  great  ardor  to  this 
exercise  ;  at  all  the  solemn  festivals  there  were  bull- 
fights, and  to  the  nobility  alone  was  conceded 
the  honor  of  fighting  ;  kings  themselves  went  into 
the  arena  ;  during  all  the  mediaeval  ages  this  was  the 
favorite  spectacle  of  the  courts,  and  the  favorite  ex- 
ercise of  warriors,  not  alone  among  the  Spanish,  but 
also  among  the  Arabs,  both  of  whom  vied  with  each 
other  in  the  bull-arena,  as  they  would  on  the  field  of 
battle.  Isabella  the  Catholic  wished  to  prohibit 
bull-fighting,  because,  having  seen  it  once,  she  was 
horrified  thereat  ;  but  the  numerous  and  powerful 
partisans  of  the  spectacle  dissuaded  her  from  carry- 
ing this  intention  into  effect.  After  Isabella,  the 
bull-fights  increased.  Charles  V  himself  killed  a 
bull  in  the  largest  square  in  Valladolid.  Ferdinand 
Pizzaro,  the  celebrated  conqueror  of  Peru,  was  a 
valiant  torero  ;  the  King  Don  Sebastian  of  Portugal 
won  more  than  one  laurel  in  the  arena  ;  Philip  III 
had  the  circus  of  Madrid  ornamented  ;  Philip  IV 
fought  there  ;  Charles  II  protected  the  art  ;  under 
the  reign  of  Philip  V  several  circuses  were  built  by 
the  order  of  the  government.  But  the  honor  of  act- 
ing as  torero  belonged  exclusively  to  the  nobility  ; 
no  one  did  this  except  on  horseback,  and  with  beau- 
tiful horses,  and  yet  no  blood  save  that  of  the  bull 
was  shed.  Only  toward  the  middle  of  the  last  cen- 
tury did  the  art  extend  to  the  common  people,  and 


178  SPAIN. 

the  toreros  (really  called  artists  of  the  profession,  who 
fought  on  horseback  and  on  foot)  begin  to  exist. 
The  famous  Francisco  Romero  de  Ronda  perfected 
the  art  of  fighting  on  foot,  introduced  the  custom  of 
killing  the  bull,  face  to  face,  with  the  sword  and 
muleta,  and  made  the  rules  and  regulations  for  the  art, 
From  that  time  to  the  present  the  spectacle  became 
a  national  one,  and  the  people  rushed  to  it  with  en- 
thusiasm. The  King  Charles  III  prohibited  it  ;  but 
his  prohibition  only  served  to  convert  the  popular 
enthusiasm,  as  a  Spanish  chronicler  declares,  into  a 
perfect  epidemic.  King  Ferdinand  VII,  a  passion- 
ate admirer  of  bulls,  instituted  a  school  for  the  art 
at  Seville.  Isabella  II  was  more  enthusiastic  on 
the  subject  than  Ferdinand  VII  ;  Amadeus  I  was 
not  less  so  than  Isabella  11.  And  now  there  is 
more  bull-fighting  than  ever  in  Spain  ;  more  than 
one  hundred  great  landowners  raise  bulls  for  this 
purpose  ;  Madrid,  Seville,  Barcelona,  Cadiz,  Valen- 
cia, Jerez,  and  Porto  de  Santa  Maria  have  first-class 
bull-circuses  ;  and  there  are  no  less  than  fifty  little 
circuses  capable  of  holding  from  three  to  nine  thou- 
sand spectators.  In  every  village  where  there  is  no 
circus  the  corridas  are  held  in  the  squares.  At 
Madrid  they  take  place  every  Sunday,  in  the  other 
cities  as  often  as  possible  ;  and  everywhere  there  is 
an  immense  concourse  of  people  from  the  neighbor- 
ing cities,  villages,  country,  mountains,  islands,  and 
even  from  out  of  the  country.  Not  all  Spaniards 
are  wild  about  this  spectacle,  it  is  true  ;  many  never 
attend  it ;  not  a  few  disapprove  of  it,  condemn  it, 
and  would  like  to  have  it  banished  from  Spain  ; 
some  journalists  raise  a  protest  against  it  from  time 
to  time  ;  some  deputies,  the  day  after  the  killing  of 
a  torero,  talk  of  a  petition  to  the  government ;   but 


,     MADRID.  179 

all  these  enemies  are  timid  and  weak.  On  the  other 
hand,  apologies  are  written  for  the  bull-fights,  new 
circuses  are  built,  the  old  ones  are  repaired,  and  they 
deride  strangers  who  cry  out  against  Spanish  bar- 
barity. 

It  is   not   only   during  the  summer  that  the  bull- 
fights are  held,  nor  is   the  spectacle   always   equal. 
During  the  winter  there   is  a  representation  every 
Sunday  in  the  circus  at  Madrid  ;  they  are  not  the 
handsome  and  fiery  bulls  of  the   summer,  nor  the 
great  artists  whom  Spain  admires,  that  take  part  at 
this  season  ;  but  only  small  bulls  of  little  spirit,  and 
toreros  who  are  not  yet  proficients   in  the  art.     Yet 
there   is  a  spectacle  by  some  means  or  other,  and 
although  the  king  does  not  attend  it,  nor  the  flower 
of  the   citizens,  as  during  the  summer,  the  circus  is 
always  filled  with  people.   Little  blood  is  shed  ;  only 
two  bulls  are  killed ;  the  affair  ends  with  fireworks  ; 
and  is  an  amusement,  as  the  impassionate  admirers 
say,   fit   for   servants   and    children.      There    is    an 
episode,  however,  in  the  winter  spectacles,  which  is 
quite  entertaining.      When  the  toreros  have  killed 
the  toros  de  imie7'tc,  the  arena  remains  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  dilettanti,  and  people  leap  into  in  on  all 
sides.     In  a  moment  there  are  a  hundred  workmen, 
students,  and  ragamuffins,  some  with  a  cloak  in  their 
hands,  some  with  a  shawl,  others  with  any  kind  of  a 
rag,  gathered  on  the  left  and  the  right  of  the  toril, 
ready  to  receive  the  bull.     The  door  opens,  a  bull 
with  his  horns  bound  up,  dashes  into  the  arena,  and 
then   begins   an  indescribable  kind  of  hurly-burly  ; 
the  crowd  surround  him,  follow  him,  draw  him  here 
and  there,  capeo  him  with  their  cloaks  and  shawls, 
and  provoke  and  torment  him  in  a  thousand  ways, 
until  the  poor  animal,  not  being  able  to  bear  it  any 


1 80  SPAIiV. 

longer,  is  allowed  to  leave  the  arena,  and  another 
takes  his  place. 

It  is  incredible  the  audacity  with  which  those 
boys  dash  under  him,  pull  him  by  the  tail,  jump  on 
to  his  back,  and  incredible  the  agility  with  which 
they  avoid  the  blows.  Sometimes,  the  bull  turning 
suddenly,  hits  some  one,  knocks  him  down,  throws 
him  into  the  air,  or  raises  him  on  his  horns  ;  at 
times  he  overturns  a  half  dozen,  and  bull  and  man 
disappear  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  the  spectator 
fears  for  an  instant  that  some  one  has  been  killed. 
Not  the  slighest  danger  of  it.  The  intrepid  cape- 
adores,  with  bruised  bones  and  dusty  faces,  shrug 
their  shoulders  and  begin  again.  Nor  is  this  the 
finest  episode  of  the  winter's  spectacle.  Sometimes, 
instead  of  the  toreros,  the  torcras  (women)  confront 
the  bull ;  women  who  are  dressed  like  tight-rope 
dancers,  with  faces,  before  which,  not  the  angels, 
but  Lucifer  himself  would 

"  Make  a  shield  for  his  eyes  with  his  wings." 

The  picador  as  are  mounted  on  mules  ;  the  espada 
(the  one  whom  I  saw  was  an  old  woman  of  sixty, 
called  la  Martina,  an  Asturian,  known  in  all  the  cir- 
cuses of  Spain),  the  espada  on  foot,  with  a  rapier 
and  mtdeta,  like  the  most  intrepid  matador  of  the 
stronger  sex  ;  all  the  citadrilla  accompanied  by  a 
body  of  cJuilos  with  great  wigs  and  humps.  Those 
poor  unfortunate  women  risk  their  lives  for  forty 
lire.  A  bull,  the  day  I  was  present,  broke  the  arm 
of  one  of  the  bandcrillera,  and  so  tore  the  shirt  of 
another,  that  she  was  left  in  the  middle  of  the  arena 
with  scarcely  clothing  enough  to  cover  her  decently. 

After  the  women,  the  wild  animals.     At  different 


MADRID.  l8l 

times  they  made  the  bull-fight  with  bears  and  tigers. 
A  few  years  ago  one  of  these  combats  took  place 
in  the  circus  at  Madrid.  The  one  which  Count 
Duke  de  Olivares  ordered,  to  celebrate  the  birthday 
(if  I  remember  rightly)  of  Don  Baltasar  Carlos  of 
Austria,  prince  of  the  Asturias,  is  noted.  The  bull 
fought  with  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  leopard,  and  con- 
quered them  all.  Also  in  a  combat,  of  a  few  years 
ago,  the  tiger  and  the  lion  had  the  worst  of  it. 
Both  of  them  dashed  impetuously  on  to  the  bull,  but 
before  they  succeeded  in  getting  their  teeth  into  his 
neck,  they  fell  to  the  ground  in  a  pool  of  blood, 
pierced  by  his  terrible  horns.  Only  one  elephant, 
an  enormous  elephant,  who  still  lives  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Rccoletos,  carried  off  the  victory.  The  bull 
attacked  him  ;  the  latter  did  nothing  but  put  his 
head  on  to  its  back  and  press,  and  this  pressure  was 
so  delicate  that  the  unfortunate  assaulter  was 
crushed  like  a  croquette.  But  it  is  pleasant  to  im- 
agine what  dexterity,  courage,  and  imperturbable 
tranquility  of  mind  is  needed  by  the  man  who  con- 
fronts with  a  sword,  the  animal  which  kills  a  lion, 
attacks  an  elephant,  and  which  crushes,  breaks, 
overturns,  and  covers  with  blood  every  thing  that  it 
touches.  And  there  are  men  who  confront  them 
every  day. 

The  toreros  are  not  merely  artists,  as  any  one 
might  suppose,  who  are  to  be  classed  with  jugglers, 
etc.,  and  for  whom  the  people  entertain  no  other 
feeling  than  that  of  admiration.  The  torero  is  re- 
spected even  outside  the  circus,  enjoys  the  protec- 
tion of  the  young  aristocracy,  goes  to  the  theatre  in 
a  box,  frequents  the  finest  cafes  of  Madrid,  and  is 
saluted  in  the  streets  with  a  low  bow  by  persons  of 
taste.     The  illustrious  espada,  like  Frascuelo,  Lagar- 


1 82  SPAIN. 

tijo,  and  Cayetano,  earn  the  delightful  sum  of  ten 
thousand  francs  a  year,  own  villas  and  houses,  live 
in  sumptuous  apartments,  dress  superbly,  spend  loads 
of  crowns  on  their  silvered  and  gilded  dresses, 
travel  like  princes,  and  smoke  Havana  cigars. 
Their  dress,  outside  the  circus,  is  very  curious  ;  it 
consists  of  an  Orsini  hat  of  black  velvet,  a  tight- 
fitting  jacket,  which  is  left  unbuttoned  and  does  not 
reach  the  trousers,  waistcoat  open  to  the  waist, 
which  displays  a  very  fine  white  shirt,  no  cravat,  a 
sash  of  red  or  blue  silk  around  the  hips,  a  pair  of 
breeches  fitting  the  legs  like  the  stockings  of  the 
ballet  dancers,  a  pair  of  morocco  shoes  ornamented 
with  embroidery,  a  little  braid  of  hair  hanging  down 
the  back  ;  then  gold  buttons,  chains,  diamonds, 
rings,  trinkets,  in  fact,  an  entire  jewelry  establish- 
ment on  their  persons.  Many  of  them  keep  saddle 
horses,  some  carriages,  and  when  they  are  not 
fighting,  they  are  always  wandering  around  the 
Prado,  Puerta  del  Sol,  in  the  gardens  of  -  Reco-=— ■ 
letos,  with  their  wives  or  sweethearts  who  are 
superbly  dressed,  and  regard  them  with  amorous 
pride.  Their  names,  faces,  and  gestures  are  more 
noted  by  the  people  than  those  of  the  commanders 
of  the  army  or  the  ministers  of  State.  Toreros  in 
comedy,  toreros  in  ballads,  toreros  in  pictures,  toreros 
in  the  shop  windows,  statues  representing  toreros^ 
fans  with  the  portraits  of /c^/rn;.?,  handkerchiefs  with  fig- 
ures Q){ toreros  are  to  be  seen  over  and  over  again  on  all 
sides.  The  profession  of  torero  is  the  most  lucrative 
and  the  most  honored  one  to  which  the  courageous 
sons  of  the  people  can  aspire.  Many,  in  fact,  dedi- 
cate themselves  to  it.  But  very  few  are  successful  ; 
the  majority  of  them  remain  mediocre  capeadores ; 
few  reach  the  point   of  being  banderilleros  of  note, 


MADRID.  183 

fewer  still  celebrated  picadorcs  ;  and  only  the  chosen 
few  of  nature  and  fortune  become  great  espadas ; 
one  must  come  into  the  world  with  that  talent  ;  one 
is  born  an  cspada  as  one  is  born  a  poet.  Very  few 
are  killed  by  the  bull,  one  could  count  the  number 
on  his  fingers  for  a  length  of  time ;  but  the  maimed 
and  wounded  and  those  reduced  to  a  state  where  they 
can  no  longer  fight  are  innumerable.  One  sees 
them  throughout  the  city  with  sticks  and  crutches, 
some  without  arms,  others  without  legs.  The 
famous  Tato,  who  was  the  first  of  the  contempo- 
raneous toreros,  lost  a  leg  ;  during  the  few  months 
that  I  was  in  Spain,  a  bandcrillcro  was  half  killed  at 
Seville,  a  picador  was  seriously  wounded  at  Mad- 
rid, Lagartijo  was  hurt,  and  three  amateur  capcadores 
were  killed  in  one  village.  There  is  scarcely  a 
torero  who  has  not  shed  some  blood  in  the  arena. 

Before  leaving  Madrid  I  wished  to  talk  with  the 
celebrated  Frascuelo,  the  prince  of  the  espadas,  the 
idol  of  the  people  of  Madrid,  the  glory  of  the  art.  A 
Genoese,  the  captain  of  a  ship,  who  knew  him,  took 
it  upon  himself  to  make  the  presentation.  We  set- 
tled the  day  and  met  in  the  imperial  cafe  of  the 
Piicrta  del  Sol.  I  feel  like  lausfhinof  when  I  think  of 
the  emotion  I  experienced  in  seeing  him  appear  in 
the  distance,  and  come  toward  us.  He  was  dressed 
very  richly,  loaded  with  trinkets,  and  gleaming  like 
a  general  in  full  uniform  ;  he  crossed  the  cafe,  a 
thousand  heads  turned  to  look  at  him,  at  my  friend 
and  me  ;   I  felt  myself  growing  pale! 

"  Here  is  Signor  Salvador  Sanchez,"  said  the  cap- 
tain (Frascuela  is  a  surname),  and  then  presenting 
me  to  Frascuela,  he  said  : 

"  This  is  Signor  so-and-so,  one  of  your  admirers." 

The   illustrious  matador  bowed,   I  did  the  same, 


1 84  SPAIN. 

and  then  we  sat  down  and  began  to  converse. 
What  a  strange  man !  To  hear  him  talk  one  would 
say  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  stick  a  pin  through 
a  fly.  He  is  a  young  fellow  of  twenty-five,  about  me- 
dium height,  quick,  dark,  handsome,  with  a  firm,  eye, 
and  the  smile  of  an  absent-minded  man.  I  asked 
him  a  thousand  questions  about  his  art  and  his  life  ; 
he  spoke  in  monosyllables,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to 
draw  him  out  word  by  word  through  a  series  of  ques- 
tions. He  replied  to  the  compliments  with  a  modest 
glance  at  his  feet.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  been 
wounded  ;  he  touched  his  knee,  hip,  shoulder,  chest, 
and  said:  "  Here,  here,  here,  and  here,"  smiling  all 
the  time  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child.  He  wrote 
down  the  address  of  his  house,  asked  me  to  call  and 
see  him,  gave  me  a  cigar,  and  went  away.  Three 
days  later,  at  the  bull-fight,  I  was  in  a  place  near  the 
barrier  ;  he  passed  before  me  to  pick  up  the  cigars 
which  the  spectators  had  thrown  him.  I  flung  him 
one  of  those  cigars  from  Milan,  wrapped  in  straw  ; 
he  took  it,  looked  at  it,  smiled,  and  tried  to  discover 
who  had  thrown  it :  I  made  him  a  sign,  and  he  ex- 
claimed : 

''Ah  !  the  Italian." 

I  seem  to  see  him  yet ;  he  wore  an  ash-colored 
costume,  covered  with  gold  embroidery,  and  one 
hand  was  stained  with  blood     . 

Now  for  a  final  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the  bull- 
fights !  Are  they  or  are  they  not  a  barbarous  thing, 
unworthy  of  a  civilized  people  ?  Are  they,  or  are 
they  not  a  spectacle  which  ruins  the  heart  ?  Now 
for  an  honest  opinion !  An  honest  opinion  ?  I  do  not 
wish,  in  replying  in  a  certain  way,  to  draw  down 
upon  my  devoted  head  a  shower  of  invectives,  and, 
in  another,  be  hauled  over  the  coals,  so  I  am  bound 


MADRID.  185 

to  confess  that  I  went  to  the  circus  every  Sunday. 
I  have  described  the  affair,  and  the  reader  knows  as 
much  about  it  as  I  do,  let  him  decide  therefore,  and 
allow  me  the  privilege  of  keeping  silent  about  the 
matter. 


I  saw  at  Madrid  the  famous  funeral,  ceremony 
which  is  celebrated  every  year  on  the  second  of 
May,  in  honor  of  the  Spaniards  who  died  fighting, 
or  were  killed  by  the  arms  of  the  French  soldiers, 
seventy-five  years  ago,  on  that  tremendous  day 
which  filled  Europe  with  horror,  and  caused  the  out- 
break of  the  War  of  the  Independence. 

At  dawn  the  cannon  sounded,  and  in  all  the  par- 
ish churches  of  Madrid,  and  before  an  altar  erected 
beside  the  monument,  they  began  to  celebrate  mass, 
which  was  kept  up  until  evening.  The  ceremony 
consists  in  a  solemn  procession  which  generally 
starts  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  royal  palace, 
assists  at  a  sermon  in  the  church  of  St.  Isidore, 
where  the  bones  of  the  dead  reposed  until  1840, 
and  then  proceeds  to  the  monument  to  hear  mass. 

In  all  the  streets  through  which  the  procession 
was  to  pass,  were  stationed  battalions  of  volunteers, 
regiments  of  infantry,  squadrons  of  cuirassiers,  civil 
guards  on  foot,  the  artillery,  and  cadets.  On  every 
side  drums  and  trumpets  sounded  and  the  bands 
played  ;  in  the  distance  one  could  see  above  the 
crowd,  the  continuous  waving  of  generals'  hats,  ad- 
jutants' plumes,  banners,  and  swords ;  from  all  the 
different  streets  came  the  carriages  of  the  Senate  and 
Cortes,  as  large  as  triumphal  chariots,  gilded  down 
to  the  wheels,  lined  with  velvet  and  silk,  overloaded 
with  fringes  and  bows,  and  drawn  by  superb,  plumed 


1 86  SPAIN. 

horses.  The  windows  of  all  the  houses  were  orna- 
mented with  tapestries  and  flowers  ;  all  the  popula- 
tion of  Madrid  was  in  motion. 

I  saw  the  procession  pass  throug-h  the  street  Al- 
cala.  First  came  the  huntsmen  of  the  civil  militia 
on  horseback  ;  then  the  boys  belonging  to  all  the 
colleges,  asylums,  and  charitable  institutions  of 
Madrid,  two  by  two,  in  thousands  ;  then  the  inva- 
lids of  the  service,  some  with  crutches,  some  with 
bound  heads,  others  supported  by  their  comrades, 
others  still,  decrepid  and  almost  carried  ;  then  sol- 
diers and  generals  in  old  uniforms,  their  breasts 
covered  with  trinkets  and  ribbons,  wearing  long 
swords  and  plumed  hats  ;  then  a  crowd  of  officers 
of  all  the  corps,  gleaming  in  gold  and  silver,  and 
dressed  in  a  thousand  colors  ;  these  followed  by  other 
employes  of  the  State,  the  deputies  from  the  prov- 
inces, members  of  Congress  and  senators.  Then 
came  the  heralds  of  the  municipality  and  chambers, 
with  ample  velvet  togas  and  silver  maces  ;  then  all 
the  municipal  employes,  the  Alcaids  of  Madrid, 
clothed  in  black,  with  medals  at  their  necks  ;  at  last, 
the  king,  dressed  as  a  general,  on  foot,  accompanied 
by  the  Syndic,  captain-general  of  the  provinces, 
generals,  ministers,  deputies,  ordnance  officers,  and 
aides-de-camp,  all  with  uncovered  heads.  The  pro- 
cession was  closed  by  the  hundred  mounted  guards, 
Qfleaminsf  like  warriors  of  the  mediaeval  aQ'es,  the 
royal  guards  on  foot,  with  great  fur  caps  in  the  style 
of  the  Napoleonic  guards,  red  swallow-tail  coats, 
white  trousers,  two  large  shoulder  belts  crossed  on 
the  breast,  leggings  reaching  their  knees,  swords, 
bows,  cordons,  clasps,  and  trinkets  ;  then  more  vol- 
unteers, infantry  soldiers,  the  artillery,  and  people. 
All  walked    with    slow,    measured    pace,  the   bands 


MADRID.  187 

played,  and  the  bells  rang  ;  the  populace  was  silent, 
and  that  gathering  of  children,  mendicants,  priests, 
magistrates,  mutilated  veterans,  and  grandees  of 
Spain,  presented  a  lovely  and  magnificent  appear- 
ance, which  inspired  at  the  same  time  a  feeling  of 
tenderness  and  reverence. 

The  procession  emerged  upon  the  Prado,  and  pro- 
ceeded toward  the  Monument.  The  avenues,  fields, 
and  gardens  were  full  of  people.  The  ladies  were 
standing  up  in  their  carriages,  on  chairs  and  the 
stone  seats,  with  children  in  their  arms  ;  there  were 
people  in  the  trees  and  on  the  roofs  ;  at  every  step 
there  were  banners,  funeral  inscriptions,  lists  of  the 
victims  of  the  second  of  May,  poems  fastened  to 
the  stalks  of  plants,  newspapers  edged  with  black, 
prints  representing  episodes  of  the  massacre,  gar- 
lands, crucifixes,  small  tables  upon  which  were 
placed  vases  for  alms,  lighted  candles,  por- 
traits, statuettes,  and  playthings  for  children  with 
the  picture  of  the  monument.  Everywhere  souve- 
nirs of  1808,  signs  of  mourning,  rejoicing,  and  war. 
The  men  were  all  dressed  in  black  ;  the  women  in 
holiday  costume,  with  long  trains  and  veils  ;  there 
were  crowds  of  peasants  from  all  the  villages,  in 
their  festival  dress,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  crowd 
rose  the  deafening  cries  of  water-venders,  guards, 
and  officers. 

The  Monument  of  the  second  of  May,  which 
rises  on  the  spot  where  the  greater  number  of 
Spaniards  were  shot,  although  its  artistic  value  does 
not  equal  its  fame,  is,  to  make  use  of  an  ordinary 
but  significant  expression,  imposing.  It  is  simple, 
bare,  and  even  heavy,  and  lacking  in  grace  when 
compared  with  others  ;  but  it  arrests  one's  attention 
even  if  one  does  not  know  what    it   is  ;  for  at  first 


SPAIN. 


sight  cne  understands  that  some  extraordinary 
event  must  have  occurred  in  that  place.  Above  an 
octagonal  granite  base  of  four  steps,  rises  a  grand 
sarcophagus,  square  in  form,  covered  with  inscrip- 
tions, coats  of  arms,  and  a  bas-relief  which  repre- 
sents the  two  Spanish  officers  killed  on  the  second 
of  May  in  the  defence  of  the  Artillery  Park.  On 
the  sarcophagus  rises  a  pedestal  in  doric  style,  upon 
which  are  four  statuettes  that  symbolize  love  of 
country,  valor,  constancy,  and  virtue.  In  the  midst 
of  the  statues  rises  a  tall  obelisk,  upon  which  is 
written  in  characters  of  gold  :  Dos  de  Mayo. 
Around  the  monument  extends  a  circular  garden, 
intersected  by  eight  avenues  that  converge  toward 
the  centre  ;  every  avenue  is  flanked  by  cypresses 
and  the  garden  is  enclosed  by  an  iron  railing,  sur- 
rounded in  its  turn  by  marble  steps.  That  group 
of  cypresses,  that  enclosed  and  solitary  garden  in 
the  centre  of  the  gayest  promenade  of  Madrid,  is 
like  a  picture  of  the  dead  in  the  midst  of  the  joys 
of  life.  One  cannot  pass  without  giving  it  a  glance  ; 
one  cannot  look  at  it  without  thinking  ;  at  night, 
when  the  .moonlight  falls  on  it,  it  seems  like  a  fan- 
tastic apparition,  and  casts  around  it  an  air  of  sad 
solemnity. 

The  king  arrived,  mass  was  celebrated,  all  the 
regiments  filed  past,  and  the  ceremony  terminated. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  the  anniversary  of  the  sec- 
ond of  May  has  been  observed  from  1814  up  to  the 
present  time,  with  a  dignity,  an  affection,  and  a  vener- 
ation that  not  only  do  honor  to  the  Spanish  people,  but 
to  the  human  heart.  It  is  the  only  national  festival 
in  Spain  ;  it  is  the  only  day  of  the  year  in  which 
all  party  hatreds  are  set  aside,  and  all  hearts  unite 
in  a  common  sentiment.     Nor  is  there,  in  this  feeh 


MADRID. 


189 


ing,  as  might  be  supposed,  any  bitterness  toward 
France.  Spain  has  cast  all  the  blame  of  the  war 
and  the  massacre  upon  Napoleon  and  Murat,  who 
were  the  causes  of  it ;  the  French  are  amicably 
received  like  all  other  strangers  ;  the  unhappy  days 
of  May  are  only  spoken  of  to  render  honor  to  the 
dead  and  the  country ;  everything,  in  this  ceremony, 
is  both  noble  and  grand,  and  before  that  monument 
Spain  has  none  but  words  of  pardon  and  peace. 


THE    COCK    FIGHTS. 


Another  thinor  to  be  seen  at  Madrid  are  the  cock- 
fights. 

I  read  one  day  in  the  Correspondcncia  the  follow- 
ing announcement  : 

"  En  la  funcion  que  se  celebrara  jnailana  en  el 
circo  de  Gallos  de  Rccoletos,  habra,  enlre  olras,  dos 
peleas  en  las  que  figurardn  gallos  de  los  conocidos 
aficionados  Francisco  Calderon  y  Don  Jose  Dies,  por 
lo  que  se  espera  sera  muy  animada  la  divc?^sio7i." 

The  spectacle  began  at  noon,  and  I  attended  it. 
I  was  struck  by  the  originality  and  grace  of  the  the- 
atre. It  resembles  a  kiosk  on  the  hillside  of  a  gar- 
den ;  but  it  is  large  enough  to  hold  nearly  one  thou- 
sand people.  The  form  is  perfectly  cylindrical.  In 
the  centre  rises  a  species  of  circular  box,  rather  more 
than  three  hands  high,  covered  with  a  green  carpet, 
and  enclosed  by  a  railing  the  height  of  those  of  bal- 
conies ;  it  is  the  batdefield  of  the  cocks.  Between 
the  iron  rods  of  the  railing  extends  a  fine  net-work  of 
wire,  which  precludes  the  escape  of  the  comba- 
tants. Around  this  kind  of  cage,  the  floor  of  which 
is  the  size  of  a  large  dining-table,  runs  a  row  of  arm- 
chairs, and  behind  these,  a  litde   higher,  a  second ; 


190  SPAIN. 

both  covered  with  red  cloth.  On  several  of  the  for- 
mer is  written  in  large  letters  :  Presidciite — Secre- 
tario — and  other  titles  of  personages  who  compose 
the  tribunal  of  the  spectacle.  Beyond  the  arm- 
chairs rise  seats  in  the  shape  of  an  amphitheatre, 
back  to  the  walls,  in  which  opens  a  gallery,  supported 
by  ten  slender  columns.  The  light  falls  from  above. 
The  bright  red  of  the  chairs,  the  flowers  painted  on 
the  walls,  the  columns,  the  light,  and  air,  in  one  word, 
the  theatre  has  something  novel  and  picturesque 
about  it  which  pleases  and  enlivens  one.  At  first 
sight,  it  seems  as  if  in  that  place  one  ought  rather 
to  listen  to  gay  and  lovely  music  than  to  witness  the 
combat  of  beasts. 

When  I  entered,  there  were  a  hundred  persons 
present.  What  kind  of  people  are  these  ?  I  asked  of 
myself  And  really  the  audience  of  the  cock-circus 
resembles  that  of  no  other  theatre  ;  it  is  a  mixture, 
siii  generis,  which  is  only  to  be  seen  at  Madrid. 
There  are  no  women,  boys,  soldiers,  nor  workmen, 
because  it  is  a  work-day  and  an  inconvenient  hour ; 
yet,  nevertheless,  one  notices  there  a  greater  variety 
of  faces,  dresses,  and  attitudes  than  in  any  other 
public  gathering.  They  are  all  people  who  have 
nothing  to  do  the  entire  day  long  ;  they  are  comedi- 
ans, with  long  hair  and  bald  heads ;  toreros 
(Calderon,  the  famous  picador,  was  there)  with 
their  red  sashes  around  their  waists  ;  students,  bear- 
ing on  their  faces  the  traces  of  a  night  passed  at 
gambling  ;  cock  merchants,  elegant  young  men,  old 
gentlemen  amateurs,  dressed  in  black,  with  black 
gloves  and  large  cravats.  These  surround  the  cage. 
Farther  on  are  rari  nantes,  some  English,  some  block- 
heads, of  the  kind  which  are  seen  everywhere,  ser- 
vants of  the  circus,  a  courtesan,  and  a  civil  guard. 
Between  the  foreigners  and  the  guard,  are  the  others 


MADRID.  191 

— gentlemen,  toreros,  shopkeepers,  and  comedians, 
all  of  whom  know  each  other,  and  discuss,  in  one 
voice,  among  themselves,  the  quality  of  the  cocks 
which  have  been  announced  in  the  programme  of 
the  spectacle,  the  wagers  of  the  preceding  day,  the 
accidents  of  the  combat,  the  claws,  feathers,  spurs, 
wings,  beaks,  and  wounds,  making  use  of  the  very 
rich  terminology  of  the  art,  and  citing  rules,  exam- 
ples, cocks  of  former  times,  famous  struggles,  win- 
nings, and  losses. 

The  spectacle  began  at  the  appointed  hour.  A 
man  presented  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  circus 
with  a  paper  in  his  hand,  and  when  he  began  to  read 
all  were  silent.  He  read  a  series  of  numbers  that 
indicated  the  weight  of  the  different  pairs  of  cocks 
which  were  to  fight,  because  none  of  the  pairs  are  al- 
lowed to  outweigh  a  standard  determined  upon  by 
the  cock-fighting  code.  The  chatting  began  again, 
then  suddenly  ceased.  Another  man  with  two 
boxes  in  his  arms  came  forward,  opened  a  gate  in 
the  railing,  mounted  the  platform,  and  fastened  the 
boxes  to  the  two  ends  of  the  scales  hanging  from  the 
ceiling.  Two  witnesses  convinced  themselves  that 
the  weight  was  nearly  equal,  all  sat  down,  the  presi- 
dent took  his  place,  the  secretary  cried,  Silencio  / — 
the  weiofher  and  another  servant  each  took  a  box, 
and  placing  them  at  the  opposite  gates  on  the  rail- 
ing, opened  them  together.  The  cocks  came  out, 
the  gates  were  closed,  and  the  spectators  preserved 
a  profound  silence  for  some  moments. 

They  were  two  Aiidabisian  cocks  of  English  breed, 
to  make  use  of  the  curious  definition  given  me  by 
one  of  the  spectators.  They  were  tall,  slender, 
straight  as  arrows,  with  a  long  and  very  flexible 
neck,  completely  without  feathers  behind,  and  from 


192  SPAIiV. 

the  chest  up  ;  they  had  no  crest,  a  small  head,  and  a 
pair  of  eyes  which  revealed  their  warlike  character. 
The  spectators  look  at  them  without  a  word.  The 
aficionados  (amateurs)  in  those  few  moments  judge 
from  the  color,  shape,  and  movements  of  the  two 
which  one  will  probably  be  the  victor  ;  then  offer 
their  wagers.  It  is  a  judgment,  as  any  one  can  under- 
stand, which  is  very  uncertain  at  best ;  but  it  is  just 
this  uncertainty  which  gives  life  to  the  affair  ;  sud- 
denly the  silence  is  broken  by  a  burst  of  shouts  : 

Un  diiro  {a  crowii)  for  the  right  one  /  A  craiun 
for  the  left  one  !  Done  !  Three  crowns  for  the  dark 
one  !  Four  crozons  for  the  gray  one  !  Una  onza 
{eighty  li^'e^  for  the  little  one  !     Done  !  etc. 

They  are  all  shouting,  waving  their  hands,  mo- 
tioning to  each  other  with  their  sticks,  bets  are  ex- 
changed in  every  direction,  and  in  a  few  moments 
there  are  a  thousand  lire  at  stake. 

The  two  cocks  do  not  look  at  each  other  from  the 
beginning.  One  is  turned  in  one  direction,  the 
other  in  another  ;  they  crow,  stretching  out  their 
necks  toward  the  spectators,  as  if  they  were  asking, 
"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  Litde  by  litde,  without 
giving  any  signs  of  having  seen  each  other,  they  ap- 
proach ;  it  seems  as  if  each  wished  to  take  the  other 
by  surprise.  Suddenly,  as  quickly  as  a  flash,  they 
take  a  leap  with  outstretched  wings,  strike  in  the 
air,  and  fall  back,  shedding  a  cloud  of  feathers  around 
them.  After  the  first  blow,  they  stop,  and  plant 
themselves  opposite  each  other,  with  their  necks 
outstretched  and  their  beaks  nearly  touching,  look- 
ing fixedly  at  each  other,  and  quite  motionless,  as  if 
they  wished  to  poison  one  another  with  their  eyes. 
Then  they  dash  at  each  other  again  violently,  after 
which  the  assaults  succeed  each  other  without  any 


MADRID.  193 

interruption.  They  wound  with  their  claws,  spurs, 
and  beaks  ;  they  clasp  each  other  with  their  wings, 
so  that  they  look  like  one  cock  with  two  heads  ;  they 
each  dash  under  the  other's  breast,  beat  against  the 
iron  railing,  chase  each  other,  fall,  slip,  and  fly  ;  lit- 
tle by  little,  the  blows  fall  more  thickly,  more  feath- 
ers fly  from  their  heads,  their  necks  become  flame- 
color,  and  they  lose  blood.  Then  they  begin  beat- 
ing each  other  with  their  heads,  around  the  eyes,  in 
the  eyes  ;  they  tear  each  other's  flesh  with  the  fury 
of  two  demoniacs  who  are  afraid  of  being  separated  ; 
it  seems  as  if  they  knew  that  one  of  them  must  die  ; 
they  utter  no  sound,  not  even  a  groan  ;  nothing  is 
heard  but  the  noise  of  rustling  wings,  of  breaking 
feathers,  of  beaks  which  are  hitting  the  bone  ;  and 
there  is  not  an  instant's  truce  ;  it  is  a  fury  which 
ends  only  in  death. 

The  spectators  follow  intently  all  these  movements 
with  their  eyes,  they  count  the  fallen  feathers,  num- 
ber the  wounds,  and  the  shouting  becomes  more  ex- 
citing, and  the  wagers  larger  : 

Five  crcTwns  for  the  little  one  I  Eight  crowjis  for 
the  gray  one  I  Twenty  crowns  for  the  dark  one  I 
Done  I     Done  ! 

At  a  certain  point,  one  of  the  two  cocks  makes  a 
movement  that  betrays  the  inferiority  of  his  strength, 
and  begins  to  give  signs  of  weariness.  While  still 
holding  out,  the  blows  of  the  beak  become  fewer,  its 
clawings  weaker,  and  its  leaps  lower  ;  it  seems  to 
understand  that  it  must  die  ;  it  does  not  fight  to  kill, 
but  not  to  be  killed  ;  it  recedes,  flees,  falls,  rises,  re- 
turns only  to  fall  again,  and  totters  as  if  seized  with 
giddiness.  Then  the  spectacle  becomes  horrible. 
In  the  presence  of  the  enemy,  who  is  surrendering, 
the  victor  grows  more   ferocious  ;    its  peckings  fall 


194  SPAIN. 

thick  and  fast  and  pitilessly  into  the  eyes  of  its  vic- 
tim, with  the  regularity  of  a  sewing-machine  ;  its 
neck  stretches  out  and  acts  with  the  vigor  of  a  spring  ; 
its  beak  seizes  the  flesh,  twists  and  tears  it ;  then  pen- 
etrates the  wound,  and  works  itself  therein,  as  if 
searching  for  its  most  hidden  fibre  ;  then  gives  blow 
upon  blow  on  the  head,  as  if  to  open  the  cranium 
and  extract  the  brain.  There  are  no  words  which 
\  can  describe  the  horror  of  that  continuous,  indefati- 
gable, inexorable  pecking.  The  victim  defends  itself, 
escapes,  makes  the  circuit  of  the  cage,  with  its  ad- 
versary behind,  beside,  and  upon  it,  as  inseparable 
as  a  shadow,  with  its  head  bowed  over  that  of  the 
fugitive,  like  a  confessor,  always  pecking,  piercing, 
and  laceratinof.  There  is  somethinof  of  the  convict, 
keeper,  and  executioner  about  it  ;  it  apears  to  be 
saying  something  in  the  ear  of  its  victim,  and  seems 
to  accompany  every  blow  with  an  insult.  There, 
take  that,  suffer,  die,  no  !  live,  take  this,  and  this,  and 
this  !  A  little  of  its  sanguinary  rage  takes  posses- 
sion of  you  ;  that  cowardly  cruelty  awakens  in  you  a 
mania  for  revenge ;  you  would  gladly  strangle  it  with 
your  hands,  or  crush  it  with  your  feet.  The  con- 
quered cock,  all  covered  with  blood,  featherless  and 
tottering,  attempts  an  assault  from  time  to  time, 
gives  several  pecks,  flees,  and  dashes  itself  against 
the  iron  railing  to  seek  a  mode  of  escape. 

Those  who  are  betting  grow  more  excited  and 
shout  louder.  They  can  no  longer  bet  on  the  strug- 
gle, so  they  bet  on  the  agony  : 

Five  cvaiuns  that  it  does  not  make  three  more  at- 
tacks !  Three  crowns  that  it  does  not  make  Jive  !  Four 
craivns  that  it  docs  not  make  iiuo  !     Done!     Done! 

At  this  point  I  heard  a  voice  which  made  me 
shudder  :     Es  cicgo  (it  is  blind). 


MADRID.  195 

I  approached  the  raiHng,  looked  at  the  conquered 
cock,  and  turned  away  my  face  with  horror.     It  no 
longer  had  any  skin  or  eyes,  its    neck    was    only  a 
bloody  bone,  the   head  was  a  skull,  the   wings,  re- 
duced to  two    or  three   feathers,  dragged   like    two 
rags  ;    it  seemed  impossible  that,  in  such    a   state, 
it  could   live    and    move,    for    it    no    longer    had 
any  form.     Yet  those  remains,   that  monster,  that 
skeleton   dripping  with   blood,  still   defended  itself, 
struggled   in  the    dark,   shaking   its    broken    wings 
like  two  stumps,  stretching   out   its    fleshless    neck, 
moving  its   skull  here  and   there   like    a   new-born 
dog,  and  was  so  repulsive  and  horrible  that  I   half 
closed  my  eyes   so  to  see   it  indistinctly.     And  the 
victor  continued  to  peck  at  the  wounds,  to  dig  out 
the  eyes,  and  to  hit   the   bare    cranium  ;  it   was  no 
longer  a  conflict,  it  was  a  torment ;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  creature  wished  to  .pick    its    victim    to    pieces 
without  killing  it  ;  at  times,   when  the  ^  poor  thing 
remained  motionless  for  a  moment,  the  victor  looked 
down  at  it  with  the  attention  of  an   anatomist  ;  at 
times  moved  off  and  looked  down  with  the  indiffer- 
ence of  a   grave    digger,  then    dashed   at   it   again 
with  the  avidity  of  a  vampire,  pecked  at  it,  sucked  it, 
and  tortured  it  with  fresh  vigor.     Finally,  the  dying 
creature,  stopping  suddenly,  dropped  its  head  as  if 
overcome  by  sleep,  and   its   executioner,  looking  at 
it  attentively,  desisted  from  its  attacks. 

Then  the  shouting  was  redoubled  ;  they  could  no 
longer  bet  on  the  convulsions  of  the  death  agony,  so 
they  took  wagers  on  the  symptoms  of  death  :  Five 
crowns  that  it  never  raises  its  head !  Tii>o  crowns 
that  it  does  raise  it  !  Three  crowns  that  it  7'aises  it 
tioice  !    Done  !    Done  / 

The  dying  cock  slowly  raised  its  head  ;  the  brutal 


196  SPAIN. 

victor,  quite  ready,  overwhelmed  it  with  a  shower 
of  blows.  The  shouts  burst  out  again  ;  the  victim 
made  another  slight  movement,  was  hit  again, 
shook  itself,  received  another  blow  still,  blood  is- 
sued from  its  mouth,  it  tottered  and  fell.  The  cow- 
ardly victor  began  to  crow.  A  servant  comes  and 
carries  both  of  them  away. 

All  the  spectators  rose  and  began  a  noisy  conver- 
sation ;  the  winners  laughing  loudly,  the  losers 
swearing  ;  both  parties  discussing  the  merits  of  the 
cocks  and  the  incidents  of  the  fight.  A  good  fight ! 
Good  cocks  !  Bad  cocks  !  They  are  worth  nothmg  ! 
You  do  not  understand  it,  sir  !    Good!  Bad  I 

Be  seated,  gentlemen  !  shouted  the  president ;  all 
sat  down  and  another  fiorht  beo^an. 

I  gave  a  glance  at  the  battle-field,  and  went  out. 
Some  may  not  believe  it,  but  that  spectacle  caused 
me  more  horror  than  the  first  bull- fight.  I  had  no 
idea  of  such  ferocious  cruelty.  I  did  not  believe, 
before  seeing  it,  that  a  creature,  after  having  ren- 
dered another  powerless,  could  torture,  martyrize 
and  torment  it  in  such  a  manner,  with  the  fury  of  hate, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  revenge.  I  could  not  believe 
that  the  fury  of  any  brute  creature  could  reach  a 
point  attained  by  the  most  desperate  human  wicked- 
ness. To-day  still,  and  a  long  time  has  elapsed 
since  then,  every  time  I  recall  that  spectacle,  I  in- 
voluntarily turn  my  head  to  one  side,  as  if  to  escape 
the  horrible  sight  of  the  dying  cock,  and  I  never 
happen  to  place  my  hand  on  a  railing  without  drop- 
ping my  eyes  with  the  idea  of  seeing  the  ground 
scattered  with  feathers  and  blood.  Should  you  go 
to  Spain,  take  my  advice  : 

"  Be  content,  humane  people,  with  the  sight  of 
the  bulls." 


MADRID.  197 

THE    CONVENT    OF    THE    ESCURIAL. 

Before  leaving  for  Andalusia  I   went  to    see   the 
famous   convent  of  the    Escurial,    the   leviathan    of 
architecture,  the  eighth   marvel   of  the    world,    the 
greatest  mass  of  granite  which  exists  on  earth,  and 
if  you  wish  other  grandiose  denominations,  imagine 
what  you  choose,  but  you  will  not  find  any  which 
has  not  yet  been  applied  to  it.     I  left  Madrid  early 
in  the  morning.     The  village  of  the  Escurial,  which 
gave  the  name  to  the  convent,  is  eight  leagues  from 
the  city,  a  short  distance  from  the  Guadarrama,  and 
the  road  crosses   an  arid  and  depopulated  country, 
shut  in  on  the  horizon  by  mountains   covered  with 
snow.     When  I  reached  the  station  of  the  Escurial, 
a  fine,  cold  rain  was  falling,  which  made  one   shiver. 
From  the  station  to  the  village  there  is  an  ascent  of 
half  a  mile.     I  took  an  omnibus,  and  a  few  moments 
later  was  landed  in  a  solitary  street,  flanked  on  the 
left  by  the  convent,  on  the  right  by  the  houses  of 
the  village,  and  shut  in  at  the  end  by  the  mountain. 
At  first  sight  one  grasps  nothing  clearly  ;  one  ex- 
pected to  see  an  edifice,  but  sees  a   city,  and  does 
not  know  whether  he  be   inside   or  outside  of  the 
convent.     On  every  side  those  walls  are  seen  ;  one 
goes  on  and  finds  himself  in  a  square,  looks  around 
and  sees  streets,  which  one  scarcely  enters  before 
the   convent  surrounds  him,   and    he    has   lost  the 
points  of  the  compass,  and  no  longer  knows  which 
way  to  turn. 

The  first  feeling  is  that  of  sadness  ;  the  whole 
building  is  of  dirt-colored  stone,  and  striped  with 
white  between  the  stones  ;  the  roofs  are  covered 
with  strips  of  lead.  It  looks  like  an  edifice  built  of 
earth.     The  walls  are  very  high  and  bare,  and  con- 


198  SPAIN. 

tain  a  great  number  of  windows  which  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  loopholes.  One  would  call  it  a  prison 
rather  than  a  convent.  Everywhere  one  sees  that 
dark,  dead  color,  and  not  a  living  soul ;  there  is  the 
stillness  of  an  abandoned  fortress  about  it ;  and  be- 
yond the  black  roofs  lies  the  black  mountain,  which 
seems  to  overhang  the  building,  giving  to  It  an  air 
of  mysterious  solitude.  The  locality,  the  forms,  the 
colors,  everything,  in  fact,  seems  to  have  been 
chosen  by  him  who  founded  the  edifice  with  the  in- 
tention of  offering  to  the  eyes  of  men  a  sad  and  sol- 
emn spectacle.  Before  entering,  you  have  lost  all 
your  gayety  ;  you  no  longer  smile,  but  think.  You 
stop  at  the  doors  of  the  Escurial  with  a  sort  of  trepi- 
dation, as  at  the  gates  of  a  deserted  city  ;  it  seems 
to  you  that,  if  the  terrors  of  the  Inquisition  reigned 
In  some  corner  of  the  world,  they  ought  to  reign 
among  those  walls.  You  would  say  that  therein  one 
mieht  still  see  the  last  traces  of  it  and  hear  its  last 
echo. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  basilica  and  convent  of 
the  Escurial  were  founded  by  Philip  II, after  the  battle 
of  San  Ouintino,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  made  to  St. 
Laurence,  during  the  seige,  when  the  beseiged  had 
been  forced  to  bombard  a  church  consecrated  to  that 
saint.  Don  Juan  Batista,  of  Toledo,  began  the  work: 
Herrera  completed  It  ;  and  the  labor  upon  it  lasted 
twenty  years.  Philip  II  desired  that  the  edifice 
should  present  the  form  of  a  gridiron,  in  commemo- 
ration of  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Laurence,  and  such, 
in  fact.  Is  the  shape.  The  foundation  Is  a  rectangu- 
lar parallelogram.  At  the  four  corners  rise  four 
<-j-reat  square  towers  with  pointed  roofs,  which  repre- 
sent the  four  feet  of  a  gridiron  ;  the  church  and 
the  royal  palace  that  rise  on  one  side,  symbolize  the 


MADRID.  199 

handle  ;  the  interior  buildings  which  join  the  two 
longest  sides,  take  the  place  of  the  cross-bars. 
Other  minor  edifices  project  beyond  the  parallelo- 
o-ram,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  convent,  alongf 
one  of  the  long  sides  and  one  of  the  courts,  and  form 
two  great  squares  ;  on  the  other  two  sides  are  gar- 
dens. Facades,  doors,  atriums — every  thing  is  in 
harmony  with  the  grandeur  and  character  of  the 
building  ;  and  it  is  quite  useless  to  heap  description 
upon  description.  The  royal  palace  is  superb,  and 
it  is  better  to  see  it  before  entering  the  convent  and 
church,  in  order  not  to  confuse  the  separate  impres- 
sions produced  by  each.  This  palace  occupies  the 
north-east  corner  of  the  edifice.  Several  rooms  are 
full  of  pictures,  others  are  covered  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing with  tapestries,  representing  bull-fights,  public 
balls,  games,  fetes,  and  Spanish  costumes,  designed 
by  Goya  ;  others  are  regally  furnished  and  adorned  ; 
the  floor,  the  doors,  and  the  windows  are  covered 
with  marvellous  inlaid  work  and  stupendous  gilding. 
But  among  all  the  rooms  the  most  noteworthy  is  that 
of  Philip  II  ;  it  is  rather  a  cell  than  a  room,  is  bare 
and  squalid,  with  an  alcove  which  answers  to  the 
royal  oratory  of  the  church,  so  that,  from  the  bed,  by 
keeping  the  doors  open,  one  can  see  the  priest  who 
is  saying  mass.  Philip  II  slept  in  that  cell,  had  his 
last  illness  there,  and  there  he  died.  One  still  sees 
some  chairs  used  by  him,  two  little  stools  upon 
which  he  rested  the  leg  tormented  with  gout,  and  a 
writino-desk.  The  walls  are  white,  the  ceilincr  flat, 
and  without  any  ornament,  and  the  floor  of  brick. 

After  seeing  the  royal  palace,  you  leave  the  build- 
ing, cross  the  square,  and  re-enter  by  the  principal 
door.  A  custodian  attaches  himself  to  you  ;  you 
cross  the  broad  vestibule,  and  find  yourself  in   the 


200  SPAIN. 

court-yard  of  the  kings.  There  )'oii  can  form  a  first 
idea  of  the  immense  framework  of  the  edifice.  The 
court  is  enclosed  by  walls  ;  on  the  side  opposite  the 
doors  is  the  fagade  of  the  church.  On  a  spacious 
flight  of  steps  there  are  six  enormous  doric  columns, 
each  of  which  upholds  a  large  pedestal,  and  every 
pedestal,  a  statue.  There  are  six  colossal  statues,  by 
Battiste  Monegro,  representing  Jehoshaphat,  Ezekiel, 
David,  Solomon,  Joshua,  and  Manasseh.  The  court- 
yard is  paved,  scattered  with  bunches  of  damp  turf. 
The  walks  look  like  rocks  cut  in  points  ;  every- 
thing is  rigid,  massive,  and  heavy,  and  presents 
the  fantastic  appearance  of  a  titanic  edifice,  hewn 
out  of  solid. stone,  and  ready  to  defy  the  shocks  of 
earth  and  the  lisfhtnines  of  heaven.  There  one 
begins  to  understand  what  the  Escurial  really  is. 

One  ascends  the  steps  and  enters  the  church. 

The  interior  of  the  church  is  sad  and  bare.  Four 
enormous  pilasters  of  gray  granite  support  the  ceil- 
ing, frescoed  by  Luca  Giordano  ;  beside  the  high 
altar,  sculptured  and  gilded  in  the  Spanish  style,  in 
the  inter-columns  of  the  two  royal  oratories,  one  sees 
two  groups  of  bronze  statues  kneeling,  with  their 
hands  clasped,  toward  the  altar.  On  the  right 
Charles  V,  the  Empress  Isabella,  and  several  prin- 
cesses ;  on  the  left,  Philip  II,  with  his  wives.  Over 
the  door  of  the  church,  thirty  feet  from  the  ground, 
at  the  end  of  the  principal  nave,  rises  the  choir,  with 
two  rows  of  seats,  in  the  Corinthian  style,  simple  in 
design.  In  a  corner,  near  a  secret  door,  is  the  chair 
which  Philip  II  occupied.  He  received  through  that 
door  letters  and  important  messages,  without  being 
seen  by  the  priests  who  were  chanting  in  the  choir. 
This  church  which,  in  comparison  with  the  entire 
building,  seems  very  small,  is  nevertheless  one  of  the 


MADRID.  201 

largest  in  Spain,  and  although  it  appears  so  free 
from  ornamentation,  contains  immense  treasures  of 
marble,  gold,  relics,  and  pictures,  which  the  darkness 
in  part  conceals,  and  from  which  the  sad  appearance 
of  the  edifice  distracts  one's  attention.  Beside  the 
thousand  works  of  art  that  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
chapels,  in  the  rooms  contiguous  to  the  church,  and 
on  the  staircases  leading  to  the  tribune,  there  is,  in 
a  corridor  behind  the  choir,  a  stupendous  crucifix  of 
white  marble,  by  Benvenuto  Cellini,  bearing  the 
inscription,  Benvenutus  Zelinus,  civis  Florentimis 
facebat,  1562.  In  other  portions  are  pictures 
of  Navarrete  and  Herrera.  But  every  feeling  of  sur- 
prise sinks  into  that  of  sadness.  The  color  of  the 
stone,  the  gloomy  light,  and  the  profound  silence 
which  surrounds  you,  recalls  your  mind  incessantly 
to  the  vastness,  unknown  recesses,  and  solitude  of  the 
building,  and  leaves  no  room  for  the  pleasure  of  ad- 
miration. The  aspect  of  that  church  awakens  in  you 
an  inexplicable  feeling  of  inquietude.  You  would 
divine,  were  you  not  otherwise  aware  of  it,  that  those 
walls  are  surrounded,  for  a  great  distance,  by  nothing 
but  granite,  darkness  and  silence  ;  without  seeing 
the  enormous  edifice,  you  feel  it ;  you  feel  that  you 
are  in  the  midst  of  an  uninhabited  city  ;  you  would 
fain  quicken  your  pace  in  order  to  see  it  rapidly,  to 
free  yourself  from  the  incubus  of  that  mystery,  and 
to  seek,  if  they  exist  anywhere,  bright  light,  noise, 
and  life. 

From  the  church  you  pass  through  several  bare, 
cold  rooms  into  the  sacristy,  which  is  a  large  arched 
chamber,  in  which  one  wall  is  entirely  covered  by 
wardrobes  of  very  fine  wood,  variegated,  con- 
taining the  sacred  ornaments  ;  the  opposite  wall  by 
a  series  of  pictures  of  Ribera,  Giordano,  Zurbaran, 


202  SPAIN. 

Tintoretto,  and  other  Italian  and  Spanish  painters  ; 
and  at  the  end  is  the  famous  altar  of  the  Santa  forma, 
with  the  celebrated  picture  of  poor  Claude  Coello, 
who  died  of  a  broken  heart  because  Luca  Giordano 
was  called  to  the  Escurial.  The  effect  of  this  picture 
surpasses  all  imagination.  It  represents,  with  life- 
size  figures,  the  procession  which  was  formed  to 
place  the  Sa^ita  forma  in  that  spot.  The  sacristy  and 
altar  are  portrayed,  the  prior  kneeling  on  the  steps, 
with  the  wax  and  sacred  wafers  in  his  hands  ;  around 
him  are  the  deacons  ;  on  one  side  Charles  II  on  his 
knees  ;  beyond  are  monks,  priests,  seminarists,  and 
other  faithful  ones.  The  figures  are  so  lifelike  and 
speaking,  the  perspective  so  true,  the  coloring,  shade, 
and  light  so  effective,  that  upon  first  entering  the 
sacristy  one  is  apt  to  mistake  the  picture  for  a  mir- 
ror which  is  reflecting  a  religious  service  being  per- 
formed at  that  moment  in  a  neighboring  room. 
Then  the  illusion  of  the  figures  disappears  ;  but  that 
of  the  background  of  the  picture  remains,  and  one 
is  really  obliged  to  go  near  enough  to  touch  it,  in 
order  to  convince  himself  that  that  is  not  another 
sacristy,  but  a  painted  canvas.  On  fete  days  the  can- 
vas is  rolled  up,  and  there  appears  in  the  centre  of 
a  little  chapel  a  little  temple  of  gilt  bronze,  in  which 
one  sees  a  magnificent  pyx  that  contains  the  sacred 
host,  inlaid  with  ten  thousand  precious  stones,  among 
which  are  rubies,  diamonds,  amethysts,  and  garnets, 
set  in  the  form  of  rays  that  dazzle  one's  eyes. 

From  the  sacristy  we  went  to  the  Pantheon.  A 
custodian  with  a  lighted  torch  preceded  rtie.  We 
descended  a  long  granite  staircase  and  reached  a 
subterranean  door,  through  which  not  a  ray  of  light 
penetrated.  Above  this  door  one  reads  the  follow- 
ing inscription  in  gilt  bronze  letters  : 


MADRID.  7.01 

"  GREAT   AND    OMNIPOTENT    GOD  ! 

'*  This  is  a  place  consecrated  by  the  piety  of  the 
Austrian  dynasty  to  the  mortal  remains  of  the 
Catholic  kings,  who  are  awaiting  the  desired  day, 
under  the  high  altar  sacred  to  the  Redeemer  of  man- 
kind. Charles  V,  the  most  illustrious  of  the  Caesars, 
desired  this  final  resting-place  for  himself  and  his 
lineage  ;  Philip  II,  the  most  prudent  of  kings,  de- 
signed it ;  Philip  III,  a  sincerely  pious  monarch,  be- 
gan the  work ;  Philip  IV,  noted  for  his  clemency, 
constancy,  and  devotion,  enlarged,  embellished,  and 
finished  it  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1654." 

The  custodian  entered,  I  followed  him,  and  found 
myself  in  the  midst  of  sepulchres,  or  rather  in  a 
sepulchre  dark  and  cold  as  the  grotto  of  a  moun- 
tain. It  is  a  small  octagonal  room,  all  marble,  with 
a  little  altar  in  the  wall  opposite  the  door,  and  in  the 
remaining  ones,  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  one 
above  the  other,  are  the  tombs,  distinguishable  by 
ornaments  in  bronze  and  bas-relief ;  the  ceiling  cor- 
responds with  the  high  altar  of  the  church.  On  the 
right  of  the  altar  are  buried  Charles  V,  Philip  II, 
Philip  III,  Philip  IV,  Louis  I,  the  three  Don  Carlos, 
Ferdinand  VII  ;  on  the  left,  the  empresses  and 
queens.  The  custodian  placed  his  torch  near  the 
tomb  of  Maria  Louisa  of  Savoy,  wife  of  Charles  III, 
and  said  to  me  with  an  air  of  mystery  : 

"  Read." 

The  marble  is  striped  in  different  ways  ;  with  a 
little  difficulty  I  succeeded  in  discovering  five  let- 
ters ;  they  form  the  word  Luisa,  written  by  the 
queen  herself  with  the  points  of  her  scissors. 

Suddenly  the  custodian  extinguished  the  torch, 
and  we  were  left  in  the  dark.  The  blood  froze  in 
my  veins. 


204  SPAIN. 

"  Light  it !  "  I  cried. 

The  custodian  gave  a  long  and  lugubrious  laugh, 
which  seemed  like  the  rattle  of  a  dying  person,  and 
replied  : 

"  Look  !  " 

I  looked  ;  a  very  faint  ray  of  light,  falling  through 
an  aperture  near  the  ceiling,  along  the  wall,  almost 
to  the  floor,  illumined  scarcely  enough  to  make  them 
visible,  some  of  the  tombs  of  the  queens,  and  looked 
like  a  moonbeam,  and  the  bas-reliefs  and  bronzes 
on  the  tombs  gleamed  in  that  ray  of  strange  light, 
as  if  they  were  dripping  with  water.  In  that  mo- 
ment I  perceived  for  the  first  time  the  odor  of  that 
sepulchral  air,  and  a  shudder  ran  over  me.  I  pen- 
etrated, in  imagination,  those  tombs,  and  saw  all 
those  rigid  bodies.  I  searched  for  a  means  of  escape 
above  the  ceiling,  found  myself  alone  in  the  church, 
fled  from  the  church  and  lost  myself  in  the  laby- 
rinths of  the  convent ;  then  recovered  myself,  in 
the  midst  of  those  tombs,  and  felt  that  I  really  was 
in  the  heart  of  that  monstrous  edifice,  in  the  deep- 
est portion,  in  the  coldest  corner,  in  the  most  over- 
whelming recess.  I  seemed  to  myself  a  prisoner, 
buried  in  that  great  mass  of  granite,  as  if  everything 
were  gravitating  toward  me,  crushing  me  on  all 
sides,  and  closing  the  exit  to  me.  I  thought  of  the 
sky,  the  country,  the  open  air,  as  I  would  have 
done  of  a  remote  world,  and  with  an  ineffable  feel- 
ing of  sadness. 

*'  Sir,"  said  the  custodian,  solemnly,  to  me  before 
going  out,  as  he  pointed  to  the  tomb  of  Charles  V, 
"  the  emperor  is  there,  just  as  he  was  when  they 
laid  him  there,  with  his  eyes  still  open,  so  that  he 
seems  alive  and  about  to  speak.  Who  lives  will 
see." 


MADRID.  205 

Saying  which,  he  lowered  his  voice  as  if  he  feared 
the  emperor  would  hear  him,  and  making  a  sign  of 
the  cross,  he  preceded  me  up  the  staircase. 

After  the  church  and  the  sacristy,  one  visits 
the  picture-gallery,  which  contains  a  great  num- 
ber of  works  by  artists  of  every  nation,  not  the 
best  of  course,  because  these  were  carried  to  the 
Madrid  Museum  ;  but  such  as  quite  merit  a  half 
day's  visit.  From  the  picture-gallery  one  goes  to 
the  library,  passing  by  the  great  staircase  over 
which  curves  an  enormous  vaulted  ceiling,  painted 
in  fresco  by  Luca  Giordano.  The  library  is  com- 
posed of  a  very  vast  hall,  ornamented  with  great 
allegorical  paintings,  and  contains  more  than  fifty 
thousand  precious  volumes,  four  thousand  of  which 
were  presented  by  Philip  II,  and  beyond  this,  a 
room  where  there  is  a  rich  collection  of  manu- 
scripts.    From  the  library  one  goes  to  the  convent. 

Here  human  imagination  loses  itself.  If  any  one  of 
my  readers  has  read  L  Estudiante  de  Salamanca  of 
Espronceda,  he  will  remember  that  indefatigable 
youth,  when,  in  following  a  mysterious  lady  whom  he 
met  at  night  at  the  foot  of  a  tabernacle,  he  passes 
through  street  after  street,  square  after  square,  alley 
after  alley,  turning,  twisting,  turning  again,  until  he 
finally  reaches  a  point  where  he  no  longer  sees  the 
houses  of  Salamanca,  and  finds  himself  in  an  un- 
known city.  He  continues  to  turn  corners,  cross 
squares,  traverse  streets,  and,  as  he  proceeds,  the 
city  seems  to  enlarge,  the  streets  lengthen  out,  and 
the  alleys  grow  thicker.  He  goes  on  and  on  with- 
out rest,  and  does  not  know  whether  he  be  dream- 
ing, awake,  intoxicated,  or  insane  ;  terror  seizes  his 
iron  heart,  and  the  strangest  fancies  crowd  into  his 
wandering  mind.     So  it  is  with  the  stranger  in  the 


206 


SPAIN. 


convent  of  the  Escurial.  Pass  through  a  long  sub- 
terranean corridor,  so  narrow  that  you  can  touch 
the  walls  with  your  elbows,  low  enough  almost  to 
hit  the  ceiling  with  your  head,  and  as  damp  as  a 
submarine  grotto  ;  you  reach  the  end,  turn,  and  you 
are  in  another  corridor.  You  go  on,  come  to 
doors,  look,  and  other  corridors  stretch  away  before 
you  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  At  the  end  of 
some  you  see  a  ray  of  light,  at  the  end  of  others 
an  open  door,  through  which  you  catch  a  glimpse  of 
a  suite  of  rooms. 

From  time  to  time  you  hear  the  sound  of  a  step, 
you  stop,  and  hear  it  no  longer ;  then  you  hear  it 
again ;  you  do  not  know  whether  it  is  above  your 
head,  at  the  right,  left,  behind,  or  before  you.  You  . 
look  through  a  door  and  start  back  alarmed  ;  at  the 
end  of  that  long  corridor,  into  which  you  have 
glanced,  you  have  seen  a  man,  as  motionless  as  a  spec- 
tre, who  was  looking  at  you.  You  proceed,  and 
emerge  on  a  narrow  court,  enclosed  by  high  walls, 
which  is  gloomy,  overgrown  wath  weeds,  and  illu- 
mined by  a  faint  light,  which  seems  to  fall  from  an  un- 
known sun,  like  the  courts  of  the  witches,  described 
to  us  when  we  were  children.  You  leave  the  court, 
ascend  a  staircase,  come  out  on  a  gallery,  and  look 
down  upon  another  silent  and  deserted  court.  You 
pass  through  another  corridor,  descend  another 
staircase,  and  find  yourself  in  a  third  court  ;  then 
other  corridors,  staircases,  and  suites  of  empty 
rooms,  and  narrow  courts,  and  everywhere  there  is 
granite,  a  pale  light,  and  the  silence  of  a  tomb.  For 
a  short  time  you  think  )'ou  would  be  able  to  retrace 
your  steps  ;  then  your  memory  becomes  confused, 
and  you  remember  nothing  more  ;  you  seem  to  have 
walked  ten  miles,  to  have  been  in  that  labyrinth  for 


MADRID.  207 

a  month,  and  not  to  be  able  to  get  out  of  it.     You 
come  to  a  court  and  say  :  "  I  have  seen  it  already! 
but  you  are   mistaken  ;  it  is  another.      You  fancy 
you  are  in  one  portion  of  the  building,  and  you  are 
really  in  an   opposite  part.     You  ask  the  custodian 
for  the  cloister,  and   he  replies  :  "It  is  here  " — and 
you  keep  on  walking  for  a  half  hour.     You  seem  to 
be  dreaming  ;  catch  glimpses  of  long  frescoed  walls, 
ornamented  with    pictures,    crucifixes,  and  inscrip- 
tions ;    you   see  and  forget  ;  and  ask  of  )'ourself : 
"  Where  am  I  ?  "     You  see  a  strange  light,  do  not 
understand  it,  and  wonder  whether  it  be  the  effect  of 
the    reflection    of  the   granite,  or  the  light   of  the 
moon.     It  proves  to  be  daylight,  but  it  is  sadder 
than  that  of  darkness,  and  is  a  false,  gloomy,  and 
fantastic  light.     On  you  go,  from  corridor  to  corri- 
dor, court  to  court ;  you  look  ahead  with  suspicion  ; 
almost  expect  to  see  suddenly,  at  the  turning  of  a 
corner,  a  row  of  skeleton  monks,  with  their  hoods 
drawn  over  their  eyes,  and  their  arms  folded  ;  you 
think  of  Philip  11,  and  seem  to  hear  his   retreating 
step  through  dark  hallways  ;  you  remember  all  that 
you  have  read  of  him,  of  his  treasures,  the    Inquisi- 
tion, and  all  becomes  clear  to  your  mind's  eye  ;  you 
understand  everything  for  the  first  time  ;  the  Escu- 
rial  is  Philip  II,  he   is  still   there,  alive  and  frightful, 
and  with  him  the  image  of  his  terrible  God.     Then 
you  would  like  to  rebel,  to  raise  your  thoughts  to 
the  God  of  your  heart  and  hopes,  and  to  conquer 
the    mysterious    terror  which   the  place  inspires   in 
you ;    but    you   cannot  do  this ;    the   Escurial    sur- 
rounds, holds,  and  overwhelms  you  ;  the  cold  of  its 
stones  penetrates  to  your  marrow;  the  sadness  of  its 
sepulchral  labyrinths   invades  }'our  soul  ;  if  you  are 
with  a  friend  you  say  :  "  Let  us  leave  ;  "  if  you  were 


208  SPAIN. 

with  your  love  you  would  press  her  to  your  heart 
with  a  feeling  of  trepidation  ;  if  you  were  alone  you 
would  take  flight,  At  last  you  •  mount  a  staircase, 
enter  a  room,  go  to  the  'window,  and  salute  with  a 
burst  of  gratitude,  the  mountains,  sun,  freedom,  and 
the  great  and  beneficent  God  who  loves  and 
pardons. 

What  a  long  breath  one  draws  at  that  window  ! 

From  here  you  see  the  gardens  v/hich  occupy  a 
restricted  space,  and  are  very  simple  ;  though  they 
may  be  said  to  be  elegant  and  beautiful,  and  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  edifice  itself.  Then  you  see  twelve 
graceful  fountains,  each  one  surrounded  by  four 
squares  of  myrtle,  which  represent  the  royal  shields, 
designed  with  such  exquisite  taste,  and  rounded 
with  such  finish  that  in  looking  at  them  from  the 
window  they  seem  to  be  woven  of  plush  and  velvet, 
and  produce  a  very  pretty  effect  in  the  white  sand  of 
the  pathways.  There  are  no  trees,  flowers,  nor  ar- 
bors ;  nothing  is  seen  in  the  garden  but  fountains, 
squares  of  myrtle,  and  two  colors,  green  and  white  ; 
and  such  is  the  beauty  of  that  noble  simplicity,  that 
one  cannot  take  one's  eyes  from  it ;  and  when  the 
eye  has  been  removed,  one's  thoughts  return  to  it, 
and  rest  there  with  a  very  keen  pleasure  tempered 
by  a  sort  of  sweet  sadness.  In  a  room  near  that 
which  looks  upon  the  garden,  a  series  of  relics  were 
shown  me,  which  I  crazed  at  without  allowinof  the 
custodian  to  suspect  my  private  doubts  as  to  their 
genuineness.  There  was  a  splinter  of  the  holy  cross 
presented  by  the  Pope  to  Isabella  II  ;  a  piece  of  the 
wood  bathed  in  the  blood,  still  visible,  of  St.  Laur- 
ence ;  an  inkstand  belonging  to  St.  Theresa  ;  and 
other  objects,  among  M'hich  was  a  small  [portable  al- 
tar of  Charles   V,  a  crown  of  thorns  and  a  pair  of 


MADRID.  209 

pincers  used  for  torture,  found  I  know  not  where. 
From  thence  I  was.  taken  to  the  cupola  of  the 
church,  from  which  "one  enjoys  a  magnificent  view. 
On  one  side  the  eye  takes  in  all  the  mountainous 
country  between  the  Escurial  and  Madrid  ;  on  the 
other,  one  sees  the  snow-capped  mountains  of  the 
Guadarrama  ;  below,  one  embraces,  with  a  glance, 
the  enormous  edifice,  the  long  lead-covered  roofs, 
and  the  towers  ;  one  sees  the  interior  of  the  courts, 
cloisters,  porticoes,  and  galleries  ;  one  can  traverse, 
in  thought,  the  thousand  passages  of  the  corridors 
and  stairs,  and  say  :  "  An  hour  ago  I  was  down 
there,  here,  up  there,  below,  and  over  there  "  ;  grow 
astonished  at  having  taken  such  a  walk,  rejoice  at 
having  issued  from  that  labyrinth,  from  those  tombs, 
shadows,  and  at  being  able  to  return  to  the  city, 
and  to  see  one's  friends  again. 

An  illustrious  traveller  said  that  after  having  passed 
a  day  in  the  convent  of  the  Escurial,  one  ought  to 
feel  happy  throughout  one's  life,  in  simply  thinking 
that  one  might  be  still  among  those  walls,  but  is 
no  longer  there.  This  is  almost  true.  Even  at  the 
present  day,  after  so  great  a  lapse  of  time,  on  rainy 
days,  when  I  am  sad,  I  think  of  the  Escurial,  then 
look  at  the  walls  of  my  room,  and  rejoice  ;  during 
sleepless  nights  I  see  the  courts  of  the  Escurial ; 
when  I  am  ill,  and  fall  into  a  disturbed  or  heavy 
sleep,  I  dream  of  roaming  through  those  corridors 
alone,  in  the  dark,  followed  by  the  phantom  of  an 
old  monk,  shouting  and  knocking  at  all  the  doors 
without  finding  an  exit,  until  I  go  to  the  Pantheon,  and 
the  door  closes  loudly  behind  me,  and  I  remain  buried 
among  the  tombs.  With  what  pleasure  I  saw  once 
more  the  thousand  lights  of  the  Piterta  del  Sol,  the 
crowded    cafes,  and  the  great   noisy  street   of  the 


210  SPAIN. 


Alcala  !  Upon  entering  the  house  I  made  such  a 
noise  that  the  maid,  who  was  a  good  and  simple 
GalHcian,  ran  to  her  mistress,  quite  breathless,  and 
said  : 

"  I  think  the  Italian  has  gone  mad  !  " 


I  was  more  amused  by  the  deputies  of  the  Cortes 
than  by  either  the  cocks  or  bulls.  I  succeeded  in 
procuring  a  small  place  in  the  tribune  of  the  journal- 
ists, and  I  went  there  every  day,  and  stayed  there  to 
the  end  with  infinite  enjoyment.  The  Spanish  par- 
liament has  a  more  juvenile  aspect  than  ours  ;  not 
because  the  deputies  are  younger  ;  but  because  they 
are  neater  and  more  carefully  dressed  than  ours. 
There  one  does  not  see  the  disordered  hair,  unkempt 
beards,  and  those  colorless  jackets  which  are  seen 
on  the  benches  of  our  Chamber  :  there  the  beards 
and  hair  are  nicely  arranged  and  shining,  the  shirts 
embroidered,  coats  black,  trowsers  light,  gloves 
orange-colored,  canes  silver-headed,  and  flowers  in 
the  button-hole.  The  Spanish  parliament  follows 
the  fashion  plates.  The  dressing  and  speaking  are 
alike  :  both  lively,  gay,  flowery,  and  sparkling. 
We  lament  that  our  deputies  are  more  governed 
by  the  form  than  is  fitting  political  orators  ;  but  the 
Spanish  deputies  cultivate  it  more  studiously  still, 
and,  it  is  only  fair  to  confess,  with  better  grace. 
They  not  only  speak  with  a  marvellous  facility,  so 
much  so  that  it  is  a  rare  occurrence  to  hear  a  deputy 
interrupt  himself  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  seek 
for  a  phrase  ;  but  there  is  no  one  who  does  not 
strive  to  speak  correctly,  and  to  give  to  his  words  a 
poetical  lustre,  a  classical  flavor,  and  a  little  of  the 
imprint  of  the  grand,  oratorical  style.     The  gravest 


MADRID.  2 1 1 


ministers,  the  most  timid  deputies,  the  most  rigor- 
ous financiers,  even  when  they  are  speaking  on 
subjects  quite  foreign  to  those  alhed  to  rhetoric,  em- 
belHsh  their  speeches  with  the  fine  forms  of  anthol- 
ogy, graceful  anecdotes,  famous  verses,  apostrophes 
to  civilization,  liberty,  and  the  country  ;  and  proceed 
quite  rapidly,  as  if  they  were  reciting  something  com- 
mitted to  memory,  with  an  intonation  always  meas- 
ured and  harmonious,  and  a  variety  of  poses  and 
gestures  which  leaves  no  place  for  ennui.  The 
> newspapers,  in  criticizing  their  speeches,  praise  the 
elevated  style,  the  purity  of  the  language,  los  rasgos 
sublimes,  the  sublime  flashes,  which  one  admires — if 
it  concerns  their  friends,  be  it  understood  ;  or,  they 
say,  with  scorn,  that  the  style  is  sesquipedal,  the 
language  corrupt,  the  form, — in  a  word,  that  blessed 
form !  uncultivated,  ignoble,  unworthy  of  the  splen- 
did traditions  of  the  art  of  Spanish  oratory.  This 
worship  of  form,  this  great  facility  of  speech,  degen- 
erates into  bombastic  vanity  ;  and  while  it  is  certain 
that  one  must  not  seek  for  the  models  of  true  po- 
litical eloquence  in  the  parliament  of  Madrid,  yet 
that  which  is  universally  admitted  is  not  the  less 
true,  viz.  :  that  this  parliament  is,  among  those  of 
Europe,  the  richest  in  fruitful  oratory,  in  the  or- 
dinary sense  of  the  word.  One  ought  to  hear  a 
discussion  on  a  subject  of  important  political  interest, 
which  stirs  the  passions.  It  is  a  veritable  conflict! 
They  are  no  longer  speeches,  but  inundations  of 
words,  calculated  to  drive  stenographers  mad  and 
confuse  the  minds  of  the  auditors  in  the  tribunes ! 
There  are  voices,  gestures,  impetuosity,  and  rhap- 
sodies of  inspiration,  v/hich  make  one  think  of  the 
French  Assembly  in  the  turbulent  days  of  the 
Revolution ! 


212  SPAIN. 

There  you  hear  a  Rios  Rosas,  a  very  violent  orator, 
who  dominates  the  tumult  with  a  roar  ;  a  Martos,  an 
orator  of  the  chosen  form,  who  slays  with  ridicule  ;  a 
Pi  y  Margall,  a  venerable  old  man,  who  terrifies 
one  with  gloomy  prophecies  ;  a  Collantes,  an  inde- 
fatigable speaker,  who  crushes  the  chamber  under 
an  avalanche  of  words ;  a  Rodriguez,  who,  with 
marvellous  flexion  of  reasoning  and  paraphrase,  pur- 
sues, confuses,  and  stifles  his  adversaries,  and  among 
a  hundred  others,  a  Castelar,  who  vanquishes  and 
fascinates  both  enemies  and  friends  with  a  torrent  of - 
poetry  and  harmony.  And  this  Castelar,  noted 
throughout  Europe,  is  really  the  most  complete  ex- 
ample of  Spanish  eloquence.  He  pushes  the  wor- 
ship of  form  to  the  point  of  idolatry  ;  his  eloquence 
is  music  ;  his  reasoning  is  the  slave  of  his  ear  ;  he 
says  or  does  not  say  a  thing,  or  says  it  in  one  way 
better  than  in  another,  according  to  the  turn  of  the 
sentence  ;  he  has  harmony  in  his  mind,  follows  it, 
obeys  it,  and  sacrifices  to  it  everything  that  can  of- 
fend it ;  his  period  is  a  strophe  ;  in  fact,  one  must 
hear  him  in  order  to  credit  the  fact  that  human 
speech,  without  poetical  measure  and  song,  can  so 
closely  approach  the  harmony  of  song  and  poetry. 
He  is  more  of  an  artist  than  a  politician  ;  has 
not  only  an  artist  intellect,  but  an  artist  heart 
also  ;  it  is  the  heart  of  a  child,  which  is  incapable 
of  hatred  and  enmity.  In  none  of  his  speeches  can 
one  find  abuse  ;  in  the  Cortes  he  has  never  pro- 
voked a  serious  personal  dispute  ;  he  never  has  re- 
course to  satire,  nor  does  he  adopt  irony  ;  in  his 
most  violent  philippics  he  never  lets  droj)  a  dram 
of  gall,  and  this  is  a  proof  of  it,  that  though  a 
republican,  adversary  of  all  the  ministers,  a  warlike 
journalist  and  perpetual  accuser  of  him  who  exer- 


MADRID.  2 1 3 

cises  any  power,  and  of  him  who  is  not  a  fanatic  for 
liberty,  he  has  never  made  himself  hated  by  any 
one.  However,  his  speeches  are  enjoyed,  not 
feared  ;  his  style  is  too  beautiful  to  be  terrible  ;  his 
character  too  ingenuous  to  admit  of  his  exercisino-  a 
political  influence  ;  he  does  not  know  how  to  tilt, 
plot,  and  to  make  way  for  himself  by  bribes  ;  he  is 
only  fitted  to  please  and  to  shine  ;  his  eloquence, 
when  it  is  grandest,  is  tender  ;  his  most  beautiful 
speeches  draw  forth  tears.  To  him  the  Chamber  is 
a  theatre.  Like  improvisators,  in  order  to  have  a 
clear  and  serene  inspiration,  he  is  obliged  to  speak 
at  a  given  hour,  at  a  fixed  point,  and  with  a  certain 
allowance  of  time  before  him.  Therefore,  on  the 
day  he  is  to  speak,  he  takes  certain  measures  with 
the  president  of  the  Chamber ;  the  president  ar- 
ranges matters  so  that  his  turn  comes  when  the 
tribunes  are  crowded  and  all  the  deputies  are  in 
their  places  ;  his  newspapers  announce  his  speech 
the  evening  before,  so  that  the  ladies  may  procure 
tickets  ;  for  he  requires  a  certain  amount  of  expec- 
tation. Before  speaking  he  is  restless,  and  cannot 
keep  quiet  one  instant  ;  he  enters  the  Chamber, 
leaves  it,  reenters,  goes  out  again,  wanders  through 
the  corridors,  goes  into  the  library  and  turns 
over  the  leaves  of  a  book,  rushes  into  the  cafe  to 
take  a  glass  of  water,  seems  to  be  seized  with  fever, 
fancies  that  he  will  not  know  how  to  put  the  words 
together,  that  he  will  be  laughed  at  or  hissed  ;  not 
a  single  lucid  idea  of  his  speech  remains  in  his 
head  ;  he  has  confused  and  forgotten  everything. 

"  How  is  your  pulse  ?  "  his  friends  ask,  smilingly. 

When  the  solemn  moment  arrives,  he  takes  his 
place  with  bowed  head,  trembling  and  pallid  as  a 
man  condemned  to  death,  who  is  resiened  to  losine 


214  SPAIN. 

in  a  single  day  the  glory  acquired  widi  so  many 
years  of  fatigue.  At  that  moment  even  his  ene- 
mies feel  pity  for  his  condition.  He  rises,  gives  a 
glance  around  him,  and  says  : 

"  Senores !  " 

He  is  saved  ;  his  courage  returns,  his  mind  grows 
clear,  and  his  speech  comes  back  to  him  like  a  for- 
gotten air ;  the  president,  the  Cortes,  the  tribunes, 
disappear  ;  he  sees  nothing  but  his  gestures,  hears 
nothing  but  his  own  voice,  and  feels  nought  but  the 
irresistible  flame  which  burns  within  him  and  the 
mysterious  force  that  sustains  and  upholds  him.  It 
is  beautiful  to  hear  him  say  these  things  : 

"I  no  longer  see  the  walls  of  the  room,"  he  ex- 
claims, "  I  behold  distant  people  and  countries  which 
I  have  never  seen." 

He  speaks  by  the  hour,  and  not  a  deputy  leaves 
the  room,  not  a  person  moves  in  the  tribunes,  not  a 
voice  interrupts  him,  not  a  gesture  disturbs  him  ; 
not  even  when  he  breaks  the  regulations  has  the 
president  sufficient  courage  to  interrupt  him  ;  he 
displays  at  his  ease  the  picture  of  his  republic, 
clothed  in  white  and  crowned  with  roses,  and  the 
monarchists  do  not  dare  protest,  because,  so  clothed, 
they,  too,  find  it  beautiful.  Castelar  is  master  of 
the  Assembly  ;  he  thunders,  lightens,  sings,  rages, 
and  gleams  like  fireworks  ;  makes  his  auditors 
smile,  calls  forth  shouts  of  enthusiasm,  ends  amid 
a  storm  of  applause,  and  goes  away  with  his  head 
in  a  whirl.  Such  is  this  famous  Castelar,  pro- 
fessor of  history  in  the  university,  a  very  fruitful 
writer  on  politics,  art,  and  religion  ;  a  publicist  who 
makes  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  the  American 
newspapers,  an  academician  unanimously  elected  by 
the  Acadcniia  Espafwla,  pointed  out   in  the  streets, 


MADRID.  2  I  5 

feted  by  the   people,  belov^ed  by  his  enemies,  and  a 
charming,  vain,  generous,  and  handsome  youth. 

Now  that  we  are  discussing  political  eloquence, 
let  us  give  a  glance  at  the  literature.  Let  us  imag- 
ine a  room  in  the  Academy  full  of  noise  and  confu- 
sion. A'  throng  of  poets,  novelists,  and  writers  of 
every  kind,  all  having  something  French  in  their 
faces  and  manners,  although  studiously  striving  to 
conceal  it,  are  reading  and  declaiming  their  works, 
each  one  trying  to  drown  the  voices  of  the  others, 
in  order  to  make  himself  heard  by  the  people 
crowded  into  the  tribunes  ;  who,  on  their  part,  refrain 
from  reading  the  newspapers  and  discussing  politics. 
From  time  to  time  a  vibratory  and  harmonious 
voice  makes  itself  heard  above  the  tumult ;  and  then 
a  hundred  voices  break  out  together  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  shouting  :  "  He  is  a  Carlist !  "  and  a  salute 
of  hisses  follows  the  cry  ;  or,  "  He  is  a  republican!  " 
and  another  burst  of  hisses,  from  another  side, 
stifles  the  vibratory  and  harmonious  voice.  The 
academicians  throw  paper  balls  at  each  other,  and 
shriek  in  each  other's  ears  : 

"Atheist!  Jesuit!  Demagogue!  Weather-cock! 
Traitor !  " 

By  straining  one's  ear  in  the  direction  of  those  who 
are  reading,  one  catches  harmonious  strophes,  well- 
turned  periods,  and  forcible  phrases.  The  first  effect 
is  pleasing  ;  they  are  really  poems  and  prose  full  of 
fire,  life,  beams  of  light,  felicitous  comparisons  taken 
from  all  that  shines  and  sounds  in  the  sky,  on  the 
sea,  and  upon  earth  ;  and  every  thing  is  vaguely  illu- 
mined with  Oriental  colors  and  richly  clothed  in 
Italian  harmonies.  But  alas  !  it  is  only  literature  for 
the  eyes  and  ears  ;  it  is  only  music  and  painting  ; 
rarely  the  muse,  in  the  midst  of  a  nimbus  of  flowers. 


2l6  SPAIN. 

lets  fall  the  "'em  of  a  thoucrht ;   and  nothinor  remains 
of  this  luminous  shower  but  a  light  perfume  in  the  air, 
and  the   echo  of  a  soft  murmur  in  the  ear.     Mean- 
while, one  hears  in  the  street  the  cries  of  the  people, 
discharges  of  guns,  and  the  sound  of  drums  ;  at  every 
moment  some  artist  deserts  the  ranks,  and  goes  forth 
to  wave  a  banner  among  the  crowd  ;  they  disappear 
two   by  two,  and   three  by  three,  in  crowds,  and  go 
to  swell  the  body  of  journalists  ;  the  noise   and  the 
continuous  vicissitudes   of  events,  divert    the   most 
tenacious  from  lengthy  works  ;    in  vain  does  some 
solitary  person  in  the  crowd  cry  :  "  In   the   name  of 
Cervantes  stop  !  "     Some  powerful  voices  are  raised 
above   that  cry  ;  but   they  are    the    voices  of  men 
grouped  on  one  side,  many  of  whom  are  about  start- 
ing on   the  journey  from   which  there  is  no  return. 
It  is  the  voice  of  Hatzembuch,  the  prince  of  drama  ; 
it  is  the  voice  of  Breton  de  los  Herreros,  the  prince 
of  comedy  ;  it   is  the  voice  of  Zorilla,  the  prince  of 
poetry  ;  it  is  an  orientalist,  who  is  called   Gayango, 
an  archeologist  called  Guerra,  a  writer  of  comedies 
called  Tamayo,  a  novelist  called  Fernando  Caballero, 
a  critic    called   Amador   de  Los  Rios,  a  romancer 
called  Fernandez  y  Gonzales,  and  a  troop  of  other 
bold  and  fruitful  geniuses  ;  in  the  midst  of  whom  the 
memory  of  the  great  poet  of  the   revolution   is  still 
alive,  Ouintana  ;  the  Byron  of  Spain,  Espronceda;  of  a 
Nicasio  Gallego,  of  a  Martinez  de  la  Rosa,  and  of  a 
Duke  de  Rivas.     Yet  tumult,  disorder,  and   discord, 
like  a  torrent,  invade  and  envelop  every  thing.     But 
to  leave  allegory,  Spanish  literature  is  almost  in  the 
same  condition  as   ours  ;    there  is  a  body  of  illus- 
trious  men,  now   in    their  decline,  who    have   had 
two  great  inspirations  :  religion  or  country,  or  both 
together,    and    they    have    left    a    particular    and 


MADRID.  2 1 7 

lasting  trace  in  the  field  of  art.  There  is  a  troop  of 
young  men  who  are  feeling  their  way  forward,  ask- 
ing what  they  have  to  do,  rather  than  doing  any 
thing  ;  wavering  between  faith  and  scepticism  ;  or, 
having  faith  without  courage,  or  not  possessing  it  at 
all,  they  are  induced  by  custom  to  simulate  it ;  not 
secure  of  their  own  language,  and  vibrating  between 
the  academies,  which  cry  :  "  Purity  !  "  and  the  peo- 
ple, who  cry  :  "  Truth !  "  hesitating  between  the 
law  of  tradition  and  the  need  of  the  moment ;  left  in 
a  corner  by  the  thousand  who  give  fame,  and  vitu- 
perated by  the  few  who  set  their  seal  upon  it  ;  they 
are  forced  to  think  in  one  way  and  to  write  in  another; 
to  half  express  themselves,  to  let  the  present  flee 
away  in  order  not  to  detach  themselves  from  the  past, 
and  to  make  their  way  as  best  they  can  between 
opposing  difficulties.  Good  fortune  may  keep  their 
real  name  afloat,  for  some  years,  in  the  torrent  of 
French  books  with  which  the  country  is  flooded.  From 
this  rises  the  discouragement  which  attacks  first  their 
own  strength,  and  then  the  national  intellect.  And 
this,  too,  is  either  the  cause  of  the  imitation  that 
permeates  mediocrity,  or  the  abandonment  of  the 
literature  of  great  studies  and  great  hopes,  for  the 
easy  and  profitable  scribbling  in  the  newspapers. 
Alone,  amid  so  many  ruins,  stands  the  theatre.  The 
new  dramatic  literature  no  longer  contains  any  thing 
of  the  antique  style,  nor  of  the  marvellous  invention, 
splendid  forms,  and  that  original  imprint  of  nobility 
and  grandeur,  which  was  peculiar  to  a  people  domi- 
nating Europe  and  the  New  World  ;  and  less  still  the 
incredible  fecundity  and  endless  variety ;  but  in  com- 
pensation for  this  lack  it  has  a  more  healthful  doc- 
trine, a  more  exquisite  delicacy,  and  a  greater  con- 
formity to  the  true  aim  of  the  theatre,  which  is  to 


2l8  SPAIN. 

correct  customs,  and  ennoble  the  heart  and  mind. 
In  all  literary  works,  then,  as  in  the  theatre, — ro- 
mances, popular  songs,  poems,  and  history,  there  is, 
always  living  and  dominating,  the  feeling  which  per- 
meates Spanish  literature  more  profoundly,  perhaps, 
than  any  other  European  literature,  from  the  first 
lyric  attempts  of  Berceo  to  the  vigorous  warlike 
hymns  of  Quintana, — that  of  national  pride. 

Here  we  must  speak  of  the  character  of  the  Span- 
ish. Their  national  pride  is  the  same  to-day,  after 
so  much  misfortune  and  such  a  fall,  as  to  make  the 
stranger  who  lives  in  their  midst,  doubt  whether 
they  be  the  Spaniards  of  three  hundred  years  ago, 
or  the  Spaniards  of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  it 
is  a  pride  which  does  not  offend  one,  a  pride  inno- 
cently rhetorical.  They  do  not  depreciate  other  na- 
tions to  appear  greater  in  comparison  with  them  ; 
no,  they  respect,  praise,  and  admire  them,  but  allow 
one  to  perceive  the  feeling  of  a  superiority  which,  to 
their  minds,  draws  from  that  admiration  a  very  clear 
evidence  of  the  fact.  They  have  for  other  nations 
that  benevolence  which  Leopardi  justly  says  is  pe- 
culiar to  men  full  of  self-conceit  ;  who,  believing 
themselves  to  be  admired  by  all,  love  their  fancied 
admirers  also,  because  they  think  it  in  keeping  with 
that  superiority  with  which  they  believe  fate  has  fa-  >• 
vored  them.  There  cannot  have  existed  in  the 
world  a  nation  prouder  of  their  history  than  the 
Spanish  people.  It  is  really  an  incredible  thing. 
The  boy  who  blacks  your  boots,  the  porter  who  car- 
ries your  valise,  the  beggar  who  asks  alms  of  you, 
raise  their  heads  and  send  out  flashes  from  their 
eyes  at  the  name  of  Charles  V,  Philip  II,  Ferdinand 
Cortes,  and  Don  John  of  Austria,  as  if  they  were  he- 
roes of  their  time,  and  they  had  seen  them  enter  the 


MADRID.  219 

city  in  triumph  the  day  before.  The  name  of  ^^- 
pana  is  pronounced  in  the  tone  with  which  the  Ro- 
mans in  the  most  glorious  times  of  the  repubhc  used 
to  pronounce  the  name  oi  Roma.  When  Spain  is 
mentioned  all  modesty  is  banished,  by  the  most  nat- 
urally modest  men,  without  there  appearing  upon 
their  faces  the  slightest  indication  of  that  exultation 
for  which  one  condones  intemperance  of  languao-e. 
They  exalt  coldness  from  habit,  without  being  aware 
of  it.  In  the  speeches  in  Parliament,  in  the  newspa- 
per articles,  in  the  writings  of  the  Academy,  they 
call  the  Spanish  people,  without  any  paraphrase,  a 
people  of  heroes,  the  great  nation,  the  marvel  of  the 
world,  and  the  glory  of  centuries.  It  is  rare  to  hear 
said  or  read  a  hundred  words  by  any  person  and  be- 
fore any  audience,  without  having  the  burden  of  the 
song  become,  sooner  or  later,  Lepanto,  the  discovery 
of  America,  and  the  War  of  Independence,  which 
is  always  followed  by  a  burst  of  applause. 

It  it  just  this  tradition  of  the  War  of  Independence 
which  constitutes  in  the  Spanish  people  an  immense 
inherent  strength.  No  one  who  has  not  lived  for  a 
greater  or  lesser  time  in  Spain  can  believe  that  a 
war,  no  matter  how  glorious  or  fortunate,  has  the 
power  to  leave  in  a  people  such  a  profound  faith  in 
their  national  valor.  Baylen,  Victoria,  and  San 
Marcial  are  more  efficacious  traditions  for  Spain 
than  Marengo,  Jena,  Austerlitz  for  France.  The 
same  warlike  glory  of  the  armies  of  Napoleon,  seen 
through  the  War  of  Independence  which  cov- 
ered it  with  its  first  veil,  seems  to  the  eyes  of  the 
Spaniards  much  less  splendid  than  to  any  other  peo- 
ple in  Europe.  The  idea  of  a  foreign  invasion  gives 
rise  in  the  Spaniards  to  a  smile  of  disdainful  scorn  ; 
they  do   not  believe  in   the  possibility  of  being  con- 


220  SPAIN. 

quered  in  their  own  country  ;  one  ought  to  have 
heard  in  what  a  tone  they  spoke  of  Germany,  when 
there  was  a  rumor  that  Emperor  WilHam  was  re- 
solved to  uphold  the  cause  of  the  Duke  de  Aosta. 
And  there  is  no  doubt  that,  if  they  had  to  fight  a 
new  War  of  Independence,  perhaps  they  would  fight 
with  less  success,  but  with  a  prowess  and  constancy 
equal  to  the  marvellous  one  they  developed  at  that 
time  ;  1808  is  the  '93  of  Spain  ;  it  is  the  date  which 
every  Spaniard  keeps  before  his  eyes  written  in 
characters  of  fire  ;  the  women  glory  in  it,  so  do  the 
boys  and  the  children  who  are  just  beginning  to 
talk  ;  it  is  the  war  cry  of  the  nation. 

This  same  pride  they  have  in  their  writers  and  ar- 
tists. The  beggar,  instead  of  saying  Espaiia,  says 
to  you  sometimes,  the  cotmtiy  of  Cervantes.  No 
writer  in  the  world  ever  enjoyed  such  popularity 
among  his  people  as  the  author  of  Don  Quixote.  I 
believe  that  there  is  not  a  peasant  nor  a  shepherd, 
from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Sierra  Nevada,  from  the 
coast  of  Valencia  to  the  hills  of  the  Estremadura, 
who,  on  being  questioned  about  Cervantes,  would 
not  reply  with  a  smile  : 

He  is  the  iimuortal  aitthor  of  Don  Qinxote. 

Spain  is  perhaps  the  country  where  they  most 
frequently  celebrate  the  anniversaries  of  great 
writers  ;  from  Juan  de  Mena  to  Espronceda  ;  every 
one  has  his  solemn  day,  on  which  a  tribute  of  song 
and  flowers  is  laid  on  his  tomb.  In  the  squares,  in 
the  cafes,  in  the  railway  carriages,  everywhere  }'OU 
hear  quoted  the  verses  of  illustrious  poets,  by  every 
class  of  people  ;  he  who  has  not  read  it,  has  heard  it 
read  ;  he  who  has  not  heard  it  read,  repeats  the  quo- 
tation like  a  proverb,  from  having  heard  it  from  some 
one  else ;  and  when  one  recites  a  verse,  every  one 


MADRID.  22 1 

listens.  Any  one  knowing  a  little  of  Spanish  litera- 
ture, may  take  a  journey  in  that  country  with  the 
certainty  of  having  something  to  discuss  and  some- 
thing with  which  to  inspire  sympathy,  wherever  he 
may  happen  to  find  himself.  The  national  literature 
is  really  national  there. 

The  defect  of  the  Spanish  which  strikes  the 
stranofer  from  the  first  is  this  :  that  in  estimatingf 
things,  the  men  and  events  of  their  time  and  coun- 
try, they  make  great  mistakes  ;  they  enlarge  every 
thing  ;  see  every  thing  as  if  through  a  lens  which 
magnifies  disproportionately  the  outlines.  Not  hav- 
ing had  for  a  long  time  any  immediate  participation 
in  the  common  life  of  Europe,  they  lack  the  oppor- 
tunity of  comparing  themselves  with  other  states, 
and  of  judging  of  themselves  by  comparison.  For 
this  reason  their  civil  wars — the  American,  African, 
and  Cuban — are  to  them,  what  are  to  us,  not  the 
little  war  of  1S60-61  against  the  Papal  army,  or 
even  the  revolution  of  i860  ;  but  the  Qrreat  war  of 
the  Crimea,  that  of  iSSq,  and  that  of  1866.  Of  the 
battles,  sanguinary  without  doubt,  but  not  great, 
which  illustrated  the  Spanish  arms  in  those  wars, 
they  speak  as  do  the  French  of  Solferino,  the  Prus- 
sians of  Sadowa,  the  Austrians  of  Custoza.  Prim, 
Serrano,  and  O'Donnell  are  generals  who  cast  into 
the  shade  all  the  most  noted  ones  of  other  countries. 
I  remember  the  noise  made  at  Madrid  by  the  victory 
gained  by  General  INIorriones  over  four  or  five  thou- 
sand Carlists.  The  deputies,  in  the  conversation- 
room  of  the  Cortes,  exclaimed  emphatically  :  Ah  ! 
Spanish  blood  !  Some  went  as  far  as  to  say  that  if 
an  army  of  three  hundred  thousand  Spaniards  had 
been  placed  in  the  position  of  the  French  in  1870, 
they  Avould  have  marched  straight  to  Berlin.     And 


222  SPAIN. 

certainly  one  cannot  doubt  Spanish  valor,  which 
gave  so  many  proofs  of  itself;  but  is  it  permissible 
to  suppose  that  one  can  draw  any  comparison  be- 
tween routed  Carlists  and  Prussians  gathered  in 
army  corps  ;  between  soldiers  of  Europe,  to  go  fur- 
ther, and  soldiers  of  Africa  ;  between  great  battles, 
where  the  shot  destroys  life  by  the  thousand,  and 
the  encounters  of  ten  thousand  soldiers  on  a  side, 
with  great  disparity  in  arms  and  discipline  ?  And  as 
they  talk  of  wars  so  they  speak  of  every  thing  else  ; 
not  the  common  j^eople  alone,  but  cultivated  persons 
also.  They. bestow  extravagant  praises  upon  their 
writers;  they  call  mdiny grande pacta,  whose  names 
have  never  been  heard  out  of  Spain  ;  the  epithets 
irreproachable,  sublime,  and  marvellous  are  current 
coin,  which  one  spends  and  receives  without  the 
slightest  doubt\s  to  the  security.  One  would  say 
that  Spain  looks>^t  and  judges  every  thing  of  its  own 
rather  like  an  American  people  than  an  European  na- 
tion ;  and  that  instead  of  being  separated  from  Eu- 
rope by  the  Pyrenees  it  is  divided  by  an  ocean,  and 
that  an  isthmus  joins  it  to  America. 

Otherwise  how  closely  they  resemble  us !  To 
hear  the  people  talk  politics,  seems'  like  being  in 
Italy  ;  they  do  not  discuss  them,  they  give  their  de- 
cisions ;  they  do  not  censure,  but  condemn  ;  any 
subject  is  sufficient  for  a  judgment,  and  any  sign  or 
indication  suffices  for  the  forming  of  an  argument. 
This  minister  ?  He  is  a  rascal.  That  one  ^  He  is  a 
traitor.  That  other  one  ?  He  is  a  hypocrite  ;  they 
are  all  a  quagmire  of  thieves  ;  one  has  had  the  trees 
of  the  gardens  at  Aranjuez  sold;  the  other  has  car- 
ried off  the  treasures  of  the  Escurial ;  a  third  has 
emptied  the  coffers  of  state  ;  a  fourth  has  sold  his 
soul  for  a  bag  of  doubloons.      They  have  no  longer 


MADRID.  223 

any  faith  in  the  men  who  have  been  interested  in 
pohtics  for  the  last  thirty  years  ;  even  in  the  com- 
mon people  there  exists  a  feeling  of  discouragement, 
so  that  one  hears  on  every  side  such  expressions  as 
these  :  Poor  Spain  !  Unhappy  coiuitry  /  Unfortu- 
nate Spaniards  / 

But  the  irritation  of  the  political  passion  and  the 
fury  of  the  internal  struggles  have  not  changed,  at  the 
bottom,  the   ancient  Spanish  character.      Only  that 
portion  of  society  to  which  is  given  the  name  of  the 
political  world  is  corrupt ;  the  people,  though  always 
inclined  to  those  blind,  and  sometimes  savage  im- 
pulses of  passion  which  betray  the  mixture  of  Ara- 
bian and  Latin  blood,  are  good,  loyal,  and  capable 
of  magnanimous  and  sublime  bursts  of  enthusiasm. 
La  honra  de  Espaiia   is  still  a  motto  which  sets  all 
hearts  beating.     And  then  they  have  such  frank  and 
pleasant   manners  ;  perhaps   less   fine,  but  certainly 
more   amiably  ingenuous  than   those   for  which  the 
French  are  praised.     Instead  of  smiling  at  you  they 
offer  you  a  cigar  ;  instead  of  saying  something  po- 
lite they  press  your  hand,  and  are  more  hospitable 
in  deed  than  in  word.     Nevertheless  the  formulas  of 
salutation  retain  the  old  court-like  imprint ;  the  man 
says  to  the  woman  :  "  I  am  at  your  feet ;  "  the  woman 
says  to  the  man  :   "  I  kiss  your  hand  ;  "  the  men,  to 
each  other,   sign   their  letters  Q.  B.  S.  M.,  que  besa 
stis  manos,  as  a  servant. to  his  master.    Only  friends 
say  adieu,   and  the   people   have  their  affectionate 
salutation  ,•    Vaya  nsted  con  Dios  (God  be  with  you), 
which   is  worth  more  than  all  the   kisses   on  your 
hand. 

With  the  warm  and  expressive  nature  of  this 
people,  it  is  impossible  to  remain  a  month  at  Mad- 
rid without  making  a  hundred  friends,  even  without 


224  SPAIN. 

seeking  them,  Fancy  to  yourself  how  many  you 
could  make  by  seeking  them.  This  was  my  case. 
I  cannot  say  all  were  real  friends,  but  I  had  so  many 
acquaintances,  that  it  did  not  seem  like  being  in  a 
strange  city.  It  is  very  easy  to  obtain  access  to  the 
illustrious  men,  and,  therefore,  it  is  not  necessary, 
as  is  the  case  elsewhere,  to  have  a  quantity  of  let- 
ters and  messages  from  friends,  in  order  to  reach 
them.  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  Tamayo,  Hatz- 
embuch,  Guerra,  Saavedra,  Valera,  Rodriguez,  Cas- 
telar,  and  many  others,  noted  in  science  and  letters, 
and  I  found  them  all  alike  :  frank,  cordial,  fiery  ; 
men  with  white  hair,  but  with  the  eyes  and  voices 
of  youths  of  twenty ;  devoted  to  poetry,  music,  and 
painting  ;  gay,  full  of  gestures,  and  with  a  fresh  and 
sonorous  laugh.  How  many  of  them  I  saw  grow  pale, 
weep,  and  spring  to  their  feet,  as  if  touched  by  an 
electric  spark,  and  showing  all  their  soul  in  their 
gleaming  eyes,  when  reading  the  verses  of  Ouintana 
or  Espronceda  !  What  youthful  souls!  What  ar- 
dent hearts !  How  much  I  enjoyed  (in  seeing  and 
hearing  them)  belonging  to  this  poor  Latin  race,  of 
which  we  now  say  so  many  disagreeable  things  ; 
and  how  much  I  was  cheered  in  thinking  that  we 
are  all,  more  or  less,  cast  in  the  same  mould,  and 
that,  although  we  may  become  accustomed,  little  by 
little,  to  envying  the  character  of  others,  we  shall 
never  quite  succeed  in  losing  our  own  individuality. 
After  more  than  three  months'  sojourn  in  Madrid, 
I  was  obliged  to  leave,  in  order  not  to  be  overtaken 
by  summer  in  the  south  of  Spain.  I  shall  always 
remember  that  beautiful  morning  in  May,  when  I 
quitted,  forever  perhaps,  my  dear  Madrid.  I  left  to 
go  and  see  Andalusia,  the  i)romisecl  land  of  travel- 
lers, the  fantastic  Andalusia,  of  which  I  had  so  often 


MADRID.  225 

heard  the  marvels  besung  in  Italy  and  Spain,  by 
romancers  and  poets  ;  that  Andalusia  for  which  I 
may  say  I  undertook  the  journey  ;  yet  I  was  sad. 
I  had  passed  so  many  charming  days  at  Madrid  !  I 
left  so  many  dear  friends  there  !  On  my  way  to  the 
station  I  traversed  the  street  of  Alcala,  saluted  from 
afar  the  gardens  of  the  Recoletos,  passed  before  the 
palace  of  the  Museum  of  Painting,  stopped  to  look 
once  more  at  the  statue  of  Murillo,  and  reached  the 
station  with  a  sinking  heart.  Three  months  ?  I 
asked  myself,  a  few  moments  before  the  train 
started  :  Have  three  months  passed  already  ?  Has 
it  not  been  a  dream  ?  Yes  ;  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
dreamed  it !  Perhaps  I  shall  never  see  again  my 
good  landlady,  nor  the  little  girl  of  Senor  Saavedra, 
nor  the  sweet,  calm  face  of  Guerra,  nor  my  friends 
of  the  Cafe  Fornos,  nor  any  one  else  !  But  what 
nonsense  !  Can  I  not  return  ?  Return  !  Oh,  no  ! 
I  know  full  well  that  I  shall  never  return  !  So,  then, 
farewell,  my  friends !  Farewell,  Madrid !  Fare- 
well, my  little  room  in  the  street  of  Alduana !  It 
seems  as  if  a  heart-string  were  snapping,  and  I  feel 
the  necessity  of  hiding  my  face. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


ARANJUEZ. 

AS  in  arriving  at  Madrid,  from  the  north,  so  in 
leaving  it  by  the  south,  one  passes  through 
an  uninhabited  country,  which  reminds  one  of  the 
poorest  provinces  of  Arragon  and  Old  Castile. 
There  are  vast,  dry,  and  yellowish  plains,  in  which 
it  seems  as  if  the  earth,  on  being  rapped  on,  ought 
to  resound  like  a  vault,  or  crumble  like  the  crust  of 
a  crisp  tart ;  and  a  few  miserable  villages  of  the 
same  color  as  the  soil,  which  look  as  if  they  might 
ignite  like  a  pile  of  withered  leaves,  should  one 
apply  a  match  to  the  corner  of  a  house.  After  an 
hour's  travel,  my  shoulders  sought  the  back  of  the 
carriage,  my  elbow  a  resting-place,  my  head  reclined 
in  my  hand,  and  I  fell  into  a  profound  dose,  like  a 
member  of  Leopardi's  Atenco  d' Ascoltazione.  A  few 
moments  after,  closing  my  eyes,  I  was  roused  by  a 
cry  of  desperation  from  the  women  and  boys,  and  I 
sprang  to  my  feet,  asking  my  neighbors  what  had 
happened.  Before  my  question  was  finished,  how- 
ever, a  general  laugh  reassured  me.  A  troop  of 
huntsmen,  scattered  over  the  country,  on  seeing  the 
train  arrive,  had  planned  to  give  the  travellers  a 
litde  fright.  In  those  days  they  talked  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  band  of  Carlists  in  the  vicinity  of 
Aranjuez  :  the  huntsmen  (pretending  to  be  the  ad- 

226 


ARANJUEZ.  227 

vance  guard  of  the  band),  while  the  train  was 
passing,  had  given  a  great  shout,  as  if  to  call  their 
companions,  and  while  shouting,  they  had  made  be- 
lieve to  fire  at  the  railway  carriages  ;  this  was  the 
cause  of  the  fright  and  cries  of  my  travelling  com- 
panions ;  and  then  these  men  had  suddenly  kicked 
their  guns  into  the  air,  to  show  that  it  had  all  been 
a  joke.  When  the  little  fright  had  passed  (from 
which  I,  too,  suffered  slightly),  I  fell  into  my  aca- 
demic doze  again  ;  but  was  aroused  once  more,  a  few 
moments  later,  in  a  manner  decidedly  more  agree- 
able than  before. 

I  looked  around  :  the  vast  deserted  plain  was 
transformed,  as  if  by  magic,  into  an  immense  garden 
filled  with  graceful  shrubbery,  traversed  in  every  di- 
rection by  broad  avenues,  scattered  with  little  coun- 
try houses  and  huts  enwreathed  in  verdure.  Here 
and  there  were  fountains  playing,  shady  nooks, 
flowery  fields,  vineyards,  small  pathways,  and  a 
greenness,  a  freshness,  a  spring-time  odor,  and  an 
air  of  gaiety  and  pleasure  which  was  quite  enchant- 
ing. We  had  arrived  at  Aranjuez.  I  got  out  of  the 
train,  made  my  way  through  a  beautiful  avenue, 
shaded  by  two  rows  of  gigantic  trees,  and  found  my- 
self,  after  a.  few  steps,   opposite  the   royal  palace. 

The  minister  Castelar  wrote  a  few  days  ago  in  his 
memorandum  that  the  fall  of  the  ancient  Spanish 
monarchy  was  predestined  on  the  day  when  a  crowd 
of  people,  with  abuse  on  their  lips  and  hatred  in 
their  hearts  invaded  the  palace  of  Aranjuez  to  dis- 
turb the  tranquil  majesty  of  their  sovereigns.  I  was 
just  on  that  square  where,  on  the  17th  March,  1808, 
the  events  took  place  which  were  the  prologue  of 
the  national  war,  and,  as  it  were,  the  first  word  of 
the  sentence  which  condemned  to  death  that  ancient 


228  SPAIN. 

monarchy.  I  instantly  sought  with  my  eyes  for  the 
windows  of  the  apartment  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  ; 
I  pictured  him  to  myself  as  he  fled  from  room  to 
room,  pale  and  dishevelled,  in  search  of  a  hiding- 
place,  followed  by  the  shouts  of  the  multitude  which 
were  climbing  the  stairs  ;  I  saw  poor  Charles  IV 
place,  with  trembling  hands,  the  crown  of  Spain  on 
the  head  of  the  Prince  of  the  Asturias  ;  all  the 
scenes  of  that  terrible  drama  presented  themselves 
before  my  eyes  ;  and  the  profound  silence  of  the 
place,  and  the  sight  of  that  closed  and  abandoned 
palace,  chilled  me  to  the  heart. 

(The  palace,  which  is  in  the  form  of  a  castle,  is 
built  of  brick,  with  trimmings  of  white  marble,  and 
covered  with  a  slate  roof.  Every  one  knows  that 
Philip  II  had  it  constructed  by  the  celebrated  archi- 
tect Herrera,  and  that  nearly  all  the  succeeding  kings 
embellished  it,  and  resided  there  during  the  summer 
season.  I  entered  ;  the  interior  is  superb  ;  there  is 
a  huge  room  for  the  reception  of  the  ambassadors,  a 
beautiful  Chinese  cabinet  of  Charles  III,  a  pretty 
dressing-room  of  Isabella  II,  and  a  profusion  of  most 
precious  objects  of  ornament.  But  all  the  riches  of 
the  palace  do  not  compare  with  the  view  of  the  gar- 
dens. Anticipation  is  realized.  The  gardens  of 
Aranjuez  (Aranjuez  is  the  name  of  the  small  city 
which  lies  at  a  short  distance  from  the  palace)  seem 
to  have  been  laid  out  for  the  family  of  a  Titanic 
king,  to  whom  the  parks  and  gardens  of  our  kings 
must  appear  like  terrace  flower-beds  or  stable-yards. 
There  are  avenues,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
flanked  by  immensely  high  trees,  whose  branches 
interlace  (as  if  bent  by  two  contrary  winds),  which 
traverse  in  every  direction  a  forest  whose  boundaries 

one  cannot  see  ;  and  through  this  forest  the  broad 


4if 


ARANJUEZ.  229 

and  rapid  Tagus  describes  a  majestic  curve,  forming 
here  and   there   cascades   and  basins.     A  luxuriant 
and  flourishing  vegetation  abounds  between  a  laby- 
rinth of  small   avenues,   cross-roads,  and  openings  ; 
and  on  every  side  gleam  statues,  fountains,  columns, 
and  sprays  of  water,  which  fall  in  splashes,  bows,  and 
drops,  in  the  midst  of  every  kind  of  flower  of  Eu- 
rope or  America.      To  the  majestic  roar  of  the  cas- 
cade of  the  Tagus  is  joined  the  song  of  innumerable 
nightingales,  who   utter  their  joyful  vibratory  notes 
in  the  mysterious  shade   of  the  solitary  paths.     At 
the  end  of  the  gardens  rises  a  small  marble  palace, 
modest  in  appearance,  which  contains  all  the  marvels 
of  the  most  magnificent  royal  palaces,  and  in  which 
one  still  breathes  the   atmosphere,  so   to  speak,  of 
the  private  life  of  the  kings  of  Spain.     Here  are  to 
be  found  the  little  secret  rooms  whose  ceilings  one 
can  touch  with  his  hand,  the  billiard-room  of  Charles 
IV,  his  cue,  the  cushions  embroidered  by  the  queen's 
own  hand,  the   musical  clocks  which   enlivened  the 
idle  hours  of  the  children,  the  little  steps,  the  small 
windows     which    retain    a    hundred    traditions    of 
princely  caprices  ;  and,   finally,  the  richest  toilette- 
chamber  in   Europe,  that  owes  its  origin  to  a  fancy 
of  Charles  IV,  and  from  which  one  could  take  riches 
enough  to  fill  a   palace  without  depriving  it  of  the 
noble  primacy  that  is  its  pride  among  all  the  other 
cabinets   destined   for   the  same  purpose.     Beyond 
this  palace,  and  all  around  the   shruloberies,  extend 
vineyards,    olive   groves,   plantations   of  fruit  trees, 
and   smiling  meadows.      It  is  a  genuine  oasis  sur- 
rounded by  the  desert,  which    Philip  II  chose  in  a 
day  of  good-humor  almost,   as  if  to  temper  with  a 
gay  picture  the  gloomy  melancholy  of  the  Escurial. 
In  returning  from  that  litde  palace  to  the  great  royal 


230'  SPAIN. 

abode,  through  those  long-  avenues,  under  the  shade 
of  those  measureless  trees,  and  in  the  profound  si- 
lence of  the  forest,  I  thought  of  the  superb  proces- 
sions of  ladies  and  cavaliers  who  one  day  used  to 
roam  there  behind  the  wild  young  monarchs  or  the 
capricious  and  insensate  queens,  to  the  sound  of 
amorous  music  or  the  songs  which  told  of  the  gran- 
deur and  glory  of  unvanquished  Spain  ;  and  I  re- 
peated with  a  feeling  of  melancholy  the  words  of 
the  poet  of  Recanati  (Leopardi) : 

"  All  is  peace  and  silence, 
And  those  who  are  gone  are  never  named." 

Yet,  in  looking  at  certain  marble  seats  half  hidden 
by  the  shrubbery,  fastening  my  eyes  upon  distant 
walks,  and  thinking  of  those  queens,  those  loves 
and  follies,  I  could  not  suppress  a  sigh,  which  was 
not  one  of  pity  ;  and  a  secret  feeling  of  bitterness 
stole  into  my  heart,  as  I  said,  with  poor  Adam  in 
the  Diablo  Mundo  :  "  How  are  these  great  ladies 
made  ?  How  do  they  live  ?  What  do  they  do  ? 
Do  they  talk,  love,  and  enjoy  as  we  do  ?"  And  I 
left  for  Toledo,  imagining  what  the  love  of  a  queen 
might  be,  just  like  a  young  adventurer  of  the  Tkoic- 
saiid  and  One  AHgJits. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


TOLEDO. 


IN  approaching  an  unknown  city,  one  ought  to 
be  near  some  one  who  has  already  seen  it,  and 
who  can  say  when  it  is  the  proper  moment  to  put 
one's  head  out  of  the  window  and  catch  the  first 
view  of  it.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  warned 
in  time.  Some  one  said  to  me  :  "  There  is  Toledo!  " 
so  I  sprang  to  the  window,  uttering  an  exclamation 
of  surprise. 

/  Toledo  rises  on  a  steep  and  rocky  height,  at  the 
foot  of  which  the  Tagus  describes  a  majestic  curve. 
From  the  plain  nothing  is  seen  but  the  rocks  and 
walls  of  the  fortress,  and  beyond  the  walls  the  points 
of  the  bell  towers  and  steeples.  The  houses  are 
hidden  ;  the  city  seems  closed  and  inaccessible,  and 
presents  rather  the  aspect  of  an  abandoned  rock  than 
that  of  a  city.  From  the  walls  to  the  bank  of  the 
river,  there  is  not  a  house  nor  a  tree  ;  every  thing 
is  bare,  dry,  shaggy,  and  steep  ;  not  a  living  crea- 
ture is  to  be  seen  ;  you  would  say  that  to  reach  it 
you  would  be  obliged  to  clamber  up,  and  it  seems 
to  you  that  at  the  appearance  of  a  man  upon  those 
precipices  a  shower  of  arrows  would  fall  upon  you. 
You  leave  the  train,  get  into  a  carriage,  and  arrive 
at  the  opening  of  the  bridge.  It  is  the  famous 
bridq-e  of  Alcantara,  which   crosses   the  Taeus,  sur- 


231. 


232  SPAIN. 

mounted  by  an  Arabian  gate  in  the  form  of  a  tower, 
which  gives  it  a  bold  and  severe  aspect.  After 
passing  the  bridge,  you  find  yourself  in  a  broad 
street  that  winds  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
Here  you  really  seem  to  be  under  a  stronghold  of 
the  middle  ages,  and  to  find  yourself  in  the  shoes  of 
an  Arab,  Goth,  or  a  soldier  of  Alphonso  VI.  On  all 
sides  you  see  precipitous  rocks,  stone  walls,  towers, 
and  the  ruins  of  old  bastions  overhanging  your 
head  ;  and  farther  up,  the  last  boundary  wall  of  the 
city,  which  is  black,  crowned  with  enormous  battle- 
ments, and  opened  here  and  there  by  great  breaches, 
behind  which  appear  the  imprisoned  houses  ;  as 
you  climb  higher  and  higher,  the  city  seems  to 
shrink  back  and  hide  itself.  Half  way  up  the  as- 
cent, you  reach  the  Pitcrta  del  Sol,  a  gem  of  Ara- 
bian architecture,  composed  of  two  embattled 
towers,  that  unite  above  a  very  graceful  double- 
arched  portico,  under  which  the  whole  road  passes. 
Beyond,  if  you  turn  back,  you  look  down  on  the 
Tagus,  the  plain,  and  the  hills.  Pass  onward,  and 
you  find  other  walls  and  ruins,  and  finally  reach  the 
first  houses  of  the  city. 

What  a  city  !  At  the  first  moment  my  breath  was 
taken  away.  The  carriage  had  passed  through  a 
street  so  narrow  that  the  hubs  of  the  wheels  almost 
touched  the  walls  of  the  houses. 

"Why  do  you  go  this  way?"  I  asked  of  the 
driver. 

The  coachman  began  to  laugh  and  replied  : 

"  Because  there  is  no  broader  street." 

"Oh!  is  all  Toledo  built  like  this?"  I  asked 
again. 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  built  like  this,"  he  replied. 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "   I  exclaimed. 


TOLEDO.  233 

"  You  will  see,"  he  added. 

In  truth  I  did  not  believe  it.  I  stopped  at  the 
hotel,  threw  my  valise  into  a  room,  and  rushed 
down  stairs  to  go  out  and  see  this  very  strange  city. 
A  hotel  employe  stopped  me  at  the  door  and  asked, 
smilingly  : 

"  Where  are  you  going,  caballero?" 

"To  see  Toledo,"  I  replied. 

"Alone?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  why  not  ?  " 

"  But  have  you  been  here  before  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Then  you  can  not  go  alone." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  you  will  lose  your  way." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"As  soon  as  you  leave  the  house." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  The  reason  is  this,"  he  replied,  pointing  toward 
a  wall,  to  which  was  fastened  a  plan  of  Toledo.  I 
approached,  and  saw  a  confusion  of  white  lines  on  a 
black  ground,  which  seemed  like  one  of  those  flour- 
ishes which  children  make  on  a  slate  to  use  up  their 
chalk,  and  annoy  their  teacher. 

"  No  matter,"  I  said  ;  "  I  wish  to  go  alone  ;  and 
if  I  am  lost,  some  one  will  find  me." 

"  You  will  not  go  a  hundred  paces,"  observed  the 
man. 

I  went  out,  and  passed  through  the  first  street,  so 
narrow,  that  in  stretching  out  my  arms,  I  touched 
both  the  walls.  After  taking  fifty  steps,  I  found 
myself  in  another  street,  narrower  than  the  first, 
and  from  this  one  I  entered  a  third,  and  so  on  in 
this  way.  I  seemed  to  be  roaming,  not  through  the 
streets  of  a  city,  but  through  the  passages  of  a  build- 


234  SPALY. 

ine  ;  and  I  went  on  with  the  idea  of  cominof  out, 
from  one  moment  to  another,  on  to  an  open  space. 
It  is  impossible,  I  thought,  that  a  city  can  be  built 
in  this  way  ;  one  could  not  live  here.  But  as  I  pro- 
ceeded, it  seemed  as  if  the  streets  grew  narrower 
and  shorter  ;  every  moment  I  was  obliged  to  turn  ; 
after  a  curved  street,  came  one  that  was  zig-zag ; 
after  this  another,  in  the  shape  of  a  hook,  which  led 
me  back  into  the  first  ;  and  so  I  wandered  for  some 
time  among  the  same  houses.  From  time  to  time, 
I  came  out  into  a  cross-road  of  several  alleys  that 
ran  off  in  opposite  directions,  one  of  which  was  lost 
in  the  darkness  of  a  portico,  another  ended,  after  a 
few  paces,  at  the  wall  of  a  house,  a  third  seemed  to 
descend  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  a  fourth 
climbed  up  a  steep  ascent ;  others  were  hardly 
broad  enough  to  allow  the  passage  of  a  man  ;  others 
were  squeezed  in  between  the  walls,  without  doors 
or  windows ;  all  were  flanked  by  buildings  of  great 
height,  which  barely  allowed  a  narrow  streak  of  the 
sky  to  be  seen  between  the  roofs  ;  and  had  windows, 
with  iron  gratings,  great  doors,  studded  with  enor- 
mous nails,  and  dark  and  narrow  courts.  I  walked 
for  some  time  without  meeting  any  one,  until  I 
emerged  upon  one  of  the  principal  streets,  all  lined 
with  shops,  and  filled  with  peasants,  women  and  boys; 
but  which  was  little  broader  than  an  ordinary  hall- 
way. /Every  thing  is  in  proportion  with  the  street :  ) 
the  doors  look  like  windows,  the  shops  like  niches, 
and  one  sees  all  the  secrets  of  the  house  :  the  table, 
which  is  laid  ;  the  children  who  are  in  the  cradle  ;  the 
niothcr,  who  is  combing  her  hair  ;  and  the  father, 
who  is  changing  his  shirt.  Every  thing  is  on  the 
street,  so  that  one  does  not  seem  to  be  in  a  city, 
but  rather  in  a  house  inhabited  by  one  large  family. 


TOLEDO.  235 

I  turn  into  a  less  frequented  street,  and  nothing  is 
to  be  heard  but  the  buzzing-  of  a  fly.  My  step  re- 
sounds up  to  the  fourth  floor  of  the  buildings,  and 
some  old  women  appear  at  the  window.  A  horse 
passes ;  it  seems  as  if  a  squadron  were  going  by  ; 
and  every  one  rushes  to  see  what  is  happening. 
The  slightest  noise  echoes  on  every  side  ;  a  book 
falls  in  a  room  on  the  second  floor  ;  an  old  man 
coughs  in  a  court-yard  ;  a  woman  is  using  her  hand- 
kerchief, I  do  not  know  where  ;  and  ever3^thing  is 
heard.  At  some  points  all  sound  ceases  suddenly ; 
you  are  alone,  and  no  longer  see  any  signs  of  life  ; 
there  are  houses  of  witches  ;  cross-roads  suitable  for 
conspiracies  ;  alleys  for  betrayal ;  blind  alleys,  which 
seem  made  for  crime  ;  windows  for  the  conversa- 
tions of  infamous  lovers ;  and  dark  doors,  that  give 
rise  to  the  suspicion  of  staircases  stained  with 
blood.  Yet  in  all  this  labyrinth  of  streets  there  are 
no  two  alike  ;  each  one  has  something  peculiar 
about  it ;  here  there  is  an  arch,  there  a  little  column, 
and  farther  on  a  bit  of  sculpture.  Toledo  is  an  em- 
porium for  art  treasures  ;  whenever  the  walls  peel  a 
little,  records  of  all  centuries  are  discovered,  such  as 
bas-reliefs,  arabesques,  Moorish  windows  and  statu- 
ettes. The  palaces  have  doors  furnished  with  plates 
of  chased  metal,  historical  knockers,  nails  with  chis- 
elled heads,  coats  of  arms  and  emblems  ;  and  these 
form  a  fine  contrast  to  the  modern  houses,  painted 
in  garlands,  medallions,  cupids,  urns,  and  fantastic 
animals.  Still  these  embellishments  take  nothingf 
from  the  severe  aspect  of  Toledo.  Wherever  you 
turn  your  eyes,  there  is  something  which  reminds 
■  you  of  the  fortified  city  of  the  Arabs.  Though  your 
imagination  may  not  be  an  active  one,  it  will  suc- 
ceed  in   recomposing,  with  the  traces  left  here  and 


236  SPAIN. 

there,  all  the  design  of  the  cancelled  picture,  and 
then  the  illusion  is  complete  ;  you  see  the  great 
Toledo  of  the  middle  ages,  and  forget  the  solitude 
and  silence  of  its  streets.  It  is  an  illusion  that 
lasts  a  few  moments;  after  which  you  fall  back  into 
your  sad  meditations,  and  no  longer  see  the  skele- 
ton of  the  ancient  city,  the  necropolis  of  three  em- 
pires, and  the  great  sepulchre  of  the  glory  of  three 
nations.  Toledo  reminds  you  of  the  dreams  which 
come  to  youths  after  reading  romantic  legends  of 
the  mediaeval  ages.  You  have  probably  seen  many 
times,  in  dreams,  dark  cities,  surrounded  by  deep  • 
ditches,  very  high  walls,  and  inaccessible  rocks  ;  and 
have  passed  over  those  drawbridges,  have  entered 
those  moss-grown  and  tortuous  streets,  and  have 
breathed  that  damp,  tomb-like,  and  prison-like  air. 
Very  well,  you  have  dreamed  of  Toledo. 

The  first  thing  to  see,  after  having  taken  a  gen- 
eral view  of  the  city,  is  the  cathedral,  which  is  very 
justly  considered  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
world.  The  history  of  this  cathedral,  according  to 
popular  tradition,  goes  back  to  the  times  of  the  Apos- 
tle Santiago,  the  first  bishop  of  Toledo,  who  is  said 
to  have  designated  the  place  where  it  was  built ;  but 
the  construction  of  the  edifice,  just  as  it  stands  to- 
day, was  begun  in  1227,  under  the  reign  of  San  Fer- 
dinando,  and  terminated  after  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  almost  continuous  labor.  The  external  ap- 
pearance of  this  immense  church  is  neither  rich 
nor  beautiful,  like  that  of  the  Cathedral  of  Burgos. 
In  front  of  the  facade  is  a  small  square,  and  it  is  the 
only  point  from  which  one  can  take  in  with  a  glance 
a  large  portion  of  the  edifice  ;  all  around  it  runs  a 
street,  from  which,  no  matter  how  much  one  may 
twist  his  neck,  nothing  can   be  seen   but  the   high 


TOLEDO.  237 

boundary  wall  that  encloses  the  church  like  a  fortress. 
The  fagade  has  three  great  doors,  called  Pardon, 
Inferno,  and  J'ustice ;  and  is  flanked  by  a  strong 
tower,  which  ends  in  a  beautiful  octagonal-shaped 
cupola.  No  matter  how  immense  you  may  have 
found  the  building  in  walking  around  it,  you  experi- 
ence a  feeling  of  intense  surprise  upon  first  entering 
it ;  and,  immediately  thereafter,  one  of  keen  pleas- 
ure, which  comes  from  that  freshness,  quiet,  lonely 
shade,  and  a  mysterious  light  that,  falling  through 
the  colored  glass  of  the  innumerable  windows,  is 
broken  into  a  thousand  blue,  yellow,  and  roseate  rays 
which  steal  here  and  there  alongf  the  arches  and 
columns  like  the  stripes  of  the  rainbow.  The 
church  is  formed  of  one  sfreat  nave  divided  into  four 
aisles  by  eighty-eight  enormous  piers,  each  one  com- 
posed of  sixteen  turned  columns,  which  are  as  close 
together  as  a  bundle  of  lances  ;  a  sixth  transcept  cuts 
these  five  at  a  right  angle,  passing  between  the  high 
altar  and  the  choir ;  and  the  ceiling  of  the  nave  rises 
majestically  above  that  of  the  aisles,  which  seem  to 
bow  as  if  renderinof  it  homasfe.  The  variegated 
lieht  and  the  clear  color  of  the  stone  eive  the  church 
the  air  of  subdued  joy  that  tempers  the  melancholy 
aspect  of  the  Gothic  architecture,  without  taking 
from  its  pensive  and  austere  gravity.  In  passing 
from  the  streets  of  the  city  among  the  aisles  of  the 
cathedral,  is  like  passing  from  a  dungeon  to  a  square. 
One  looks  about  him,  breathes  again,  and  feels  life 
returning. 

The  high  altar,  should  one  wish  to  examine  it 
minutely,  would  require  quite  as  much  time  as  the 
entire  church.  It  is  a  church  in  itself,  a  confusion  of 
little  columns,  statuettes,  leaves,  and  variegated  or- 
naments, which  project  along  the  corners,  rise  above 


238  SPAIN. 

the  architraves,   wind   around    the   niches,   support 
one  another,  accumulate,  and  hide  themselves,  pre- 
senting  on  every  side  a  thousand  profiles,  groups, 
foreshortenings,  gildings,  colors,  and  every  variety  of 
artificial  lightness,  so  that  they  present  all  together 
an  appearance  full  of  majesty  and  grace.     In  front 
of  the  high  altar  is  the  choir,  divided  into  three  rows 
of  seats  marvellously  sculptured  by  Philip  of  Bour- 
gogne  and  Berruguete,  with   bas-reliefs  representing 
historical,  allegorical,  and  sacred  incidents,  and  it  is 
considered  one  of  the  most  noteworthy  monuments 
of  the  art.     In  the  centre,  in  the  form  of  a  throne,  is 
the  seat  of  the  archbishop  ;  all  around  is  a  circle  of 
enormous  jasper  columns  ;  on  the  architraves  are 
colossal  statues  of  alabaster  ;  and,  on  the  two  sides, 
are  enormous  bronze  pulpits,  upon  which  are  gigantic 
missals,  and  two  immense  organs  (one  in  fi'ont  of 
the  altar),  from  which  it  seems  as  if  a  torrent  of 
sound,  sufficient   to   make   the   roof  tremble,  might 
burst  forth  at  any  moment. 

The  pleasure  of  admiration  in  these  great  cathe- 
drals is  almost  always  disturbed  by  the  importunate 
guides  who  wish  you  to  amuse  yourself  in  their  own 
particular  way.  Unfortunately,  I  had  the  conviction 
forced  upon  me  that  the  Spanish  guides  are  the  most 
obstinate  of  the  race.  When  one  of  them  has  made 
up  his  mind  that  you  are  to  pass  the  day  with  him, 
the  matter  is  settled.  You  may  shrug  your  shoul- 
ders, refuse  to  answer  him,  let  him  get  out  of  breath 
without  turning  your  face  toward  him,  wander 
around  on  your  own  account  as  if  you  had  not  seen 
him  ;  it  is  all  the  same.  In  a  moment  of  enthusiasm, 
before  a  picture  or  a  statue,  some  word,  gesture,  or 
smile  escapes  you  ;  it  is  (]uite  sufficient ;  you  are 
bound,   you  are  his  property,  you  are   the  prey  of 


TOLEDO.  239 

this  implacable  human  pieuvre,  which,  like  that  of 
Victor  Hugo,  does  not  leave  its  victim  until  it  has 
cut  off  its  head.  While  I  stood  looking  at  the 
statues  in  the  choir,  I  saw  one  of  \hQ.sQ.  pietivres  out 
of  the  corner  of  my  eye.  He  was  a  wretched  old 
creature,  who  approached  me  slowly  and  sidewise, 
like  a  cuthroat,  looking  at  me  all  the  time  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  is  saying  :  ''  You  are  there." 
I  continued  to  look  at  the  statues  ;  the  old  man  came 
to  my  side  and  began  looking  too  ;  then,  suddenly, 
he  asked  : 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  accompany  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  do  not  need  your  ser- 
vices." 

Then  he  said,  without  the  slightest  discom- 
posure : 

"  Do  you  know  who  Elpidius  was  ?  " 

The  question  was  so  strange  that  I  could  not  help 
asking  in  my  turn  : 

"  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  Elpidius  was  the  second  bishop  of  Toledo." 

"  Well,  what  about  him?  " 

"  It  was  the  Bishop  Elpidius  who  conceived  the 

idea  of  consecratinor  this  church  to  the  Virgin,  which 

•       1  •     • 

is   the    reason    why  the   Virgin    came    to  visit  the 

church." 

"  Ah,  how  is  that  known  ?  " 

"  How  is  that  known  ?     Why,  you  see  it !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  it  has  been  seen  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  it  is  still  to  be  seen  ;  be  kind 

enough  to  come  with  me." 

Saying  which   he   moved  on,  and  I,  very  curious 

to  know  what  this  visible  proof  of  the   descent  of 

the  Virgin   could  be,  followed  him.      We  stopped 

before  a  species  of  tabernacle   near  one  of  the  great 


240  SPAIN. 

pilasters  in  the  middle  nave.  The  guide  showed  me 
a  white  stone  set  into  the  wall,  covered  with  a  wire 
netting,  around  which  was  the  following  inscription : 

"  Quando  la  reina  del  cielo 
Puso  los  pies  en  el  suelo 
En  esta  piedra  los  puso." 

"  So,"  I  asked,  "  the  holy  Virgin  really  placed  her 
foot  upon  this  stone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  really  upon  this  stone,"  he  replied,  and 
passing  his  finger  through  the  net-work  and  touching 
the  stone,  he  kissed  his  finger,  made  a  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  made  a  sign  to  me,  as  if  to  say  : 

"  It  is  your  turn." 

"  My  turn  ?"  I  replied  ;  "  oh,  forsooth,  my  good 
friend,  I  really  cannot  do  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  consider  myself  worthy  of 
touching  that  divine  stone." 

The  guide  understood,  and  looking  fixedly  at  me, 
asked  : 

"  You  do  not  believe,  sir?" 

I  looked  at  the  pilaster.  Then  the  old  man  made 
me  a  sign  to  follow  him,  and  moved  off  toward  a 
corner  of  the  church,  murmuring  with  an  air  of  sad- 
ness ; 

"  Cadatmo  cs  diieno  de  su  alma''  (every  one  is 
master  of  his  own  soul). 

A  young  priest  who  was  near  by,  cast  a  sharp 
glance  at  me,  and  muttering  something  I  could  not 
hear,  withdrew  in  a  different  direction. 

The  chapels  are  in  keeping  with  such  a  church  ; 
almost  all  of  them  contain  some  fine  monuments.  In 
the  chapel  of  St.  Jago,  behind  the  high  altar,  are  two 
magnificent  alabaster  tombs,  which  hold  the  remains 


TOLEDO.  241 

of  the  constable,  Alvaro  de  Luna,  and  his  wife.  In 
the  chapel  of  St.  Idelphonso  is  the  tomb  of  the  Car- 
dinal Gil  Carillo  de  Albornoz.  In  the  chapel  of  los 
Reyes  nitevos  are  the  tombs  of  Henry  II,  John  II, 
and  Henry  III.  In  the  chapel  of  the  shrine,  there 
is  a  superb  collection  of  statues  and  busts  in  marble, 
silver,  ivory,  and  gold,  together  with  numerous 
crosses  and  relics  of  inestimable  value,  the  remains 
of  St.  Leucadia  and  St.  Eugenia  enclosed  in  two 
finely-chased  silver  caskets. 

The  Mozarabe  chapel,  which  corresponds  with  the 
tower  of  the  church,  and  was  built  to  perpetuate  the 
tradition  of  the  primitive  Christian  rite,  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  noteworthy  of  all.  One  of  the  walls  is 
entirely  covered  with  a  Gothic  fresco,  representing  a 
battle  between  the  Moors  and  Toledans,  which  has 
been  most  marvellously  preserved  even  to  the  finest 
shadings.  It  is  a  painting  which  is  w^orth  a  volume 
of  history.  One  sees  the  Toledo  of  those  times, 
with  all  its  walls  and  houses,  the  uniforms  of  the 
two  armies,  the  weapons,  faces, — every  thing,  in  fact, 
has  been  depicted  with  a  wonderful  fidelity  and  un- 
usual beauty  of  coloring,  that  corresponds  perfectly 
with  the  vague,  uncertain  idea  which  we  form  of 
those  centuries  and  people.  There  are  two  other 
frescoes,  on  either  side  of  the  first,  representing  two 
ships  that  are  conveying  the  Arabs  into  Spain,  and 
these  also  contain  a  thousand  minute  details  of  the 
mediaeval  navy,  and  that  air,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  of  those  times,  which  makes  one  think  of 
and  see  numberless  things  not  represented  in  the 
picture,  just  as  one  is  reminded  of  distant  music  in 
looking  at  a  landscape. 

After    seeing     the    chapels,    you    visit     the  sa- 
cristy,  in  which  there  is  a    sufficient  accumulation 


242  SPAIN. 

of  riches  to  replenish  completely  the  exchequer  of 
Spain.  There  is,  among  others,  an  immense  room, 
on  the  ceiling  of  which  is  a  fresco  by  Luca  Giordano, 
representing  a  vision  of  Paradise,  with  myriads  of 
angelb,  saints,  and  allegorical  figures,  which  sweep 
through  the  air,  or  stand  out  in  a  thousand  such 
bold  and  surprising  attitudes,  and  foreshortenings, 
that  they  seem  to  have  been  chiselled,  and  to  pro- 
ject beyond  the  cornice  of  the  walls.  The  guide, 
pointing  to  \ki2X  prodigio  de  imaginacion  y  de  trabajo, 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  all  artists,  is — to  make  use 
of  a  very  curious  Spanish  expression — of  an  atro- 
cious merit,  suggests  that  you  look  attentively  at 
the  ray  of  light  which  is  falling  from  the  middle  of 
the  ceiling  toward  the  walls.  You  look,  and  take, 
while  looking  at  it,  a  turn  around  the  room,  yet  no 
matter  where  you  may  be,  it  seems  as  if  that  ray 
were  falling  directly  upon  your  head.  From  this  room 
you  pass  into  one  which  is  also  admirably  frescoed 
by  the  nephew  of  Berruguete,  and  from  this  into  a 
third,  where  a  sacristan  displays  to  you  the  treas- 
ures of  the  cathedral.  There  are  the  enormous 
silver  candlesticks,  the  pyxes,  gleaming  with  rubies, 
the  ostensoriums,  studded  with  diamonds,  the  vest- 
ments of  damask,  embroidered  in  orold,  and  the 
robes  of  the  Virgin,  covered  with  arabesques, 
flowers,  and  stars  of  pearls,  which,  at  every  move- 
ment of  the  material,  sent  out  rays  and  gleams  of  a 
thousand  colors,  that  the  eye  can  scarcely  bear. 
An  hour  hardly  suffices  for  the  hasty  inspection  of 
these  treasures,  which  would  certainly  satisfy  the 
ambition  of  ten  queens,  and  enrich  the  altars  of  ten 
basilicas.  When  the  sacristan,  after  showing  you 
every  thing,  seeks  in  your  eyes  for  an  expression  of 
surprise,  he  only  finds  that  of  stupefied  astonish- 


TOLEDO.  243 

rnent,  which  tells  that  your  imagination  is  wander- 
ing elsewhere, — in  the  fabulous  palaces  of  the 
Arabian  legends,  where  the  beneficent  genii  accu- 
mulated all  the  riches  dreamed  of  by  the  ardent 
fancy  of  enamored  sultans. 

It  was  the  eve  of  Corpus  Domini,  and  the  robes 
for   the    procession    were    being    prepared    in    the 
sacristy.     There  can   be   nothing   more    distasteful, 
and  out  of  keeping  with  the  quiet  and  noble  majesty 
of  the  church,  than  that  theatre-like  bustle,  which  is 
always  seen  on  such  occasions.     It  really  seems  like 
being  behind  the  scenes  on  the  evening   of  a  dress 
rehearsal.      From   another  room  of  the  sacristy,  a 
crowd  of  half-dressed  boys   kept  coming  and  going 
with  a  tremendous  racket,  carrying  armfuls  of  shirts, 
stoles,  and    capes.     Here   there   was   a   sacristan  in 
bad    humor,  who  was    opening    and    slamming   the 
doors  of   a  wardrobe ;  there,   a  priest  quite  red   in 
the   face  calling  in   an   angry   voice  to   a  boy   who 
did    not    hear    him  ;     other     priests    were    running- 
through  the  room  with  half  their  vestments  on  and 
half  of  them  dragging  ;    some  were  laughing,  some 
were  shouting,  some  screaming  from  one  room  to 
another,  at  the  top  of  their  luhgs  ;  and  everywhere 
one    heard    the    rustling    of   petticoats,    or    labored 
breathing,    and    an     indescribable    tramping     and 
stamping. 

I  went  to  see  the  cloister  ;  but  as  the  church 
door  which  leads  to  it  was  open,  I  saw  it  before 
entering.  In  the  middle  of  the  church  one  catches 
a  glimpse  of  a  portion  of  the  cloister  garden,  a  group 
of  great  shade  trees,  a  grove,  and  a  mass  of  luxu- 
riant verdure,  that  seems  to  shut  in  the  door,  and 
looks  as  if  it  were  framed  under  an  elegant  arch, 
and  between  two  slender  columns   of  the   portico, 


244  SPAIN. 

which  runs  all  around  it.  It  is  a  delicious  view^ 
that  reminds  one  of  oriental  gardens,  seen  between 
the  columns  of  the  mosques.  The  cloister  is  large^ 
is  surrounded  by  a  portico,  both  graceful  and  severe 
in  style,  and  the  walls  are  covered  with  frescoes. 
Here  the  guide  advised  me  to  rest,  before  climbing 
the  bell  tower.  I  leaned  against  an  old  wall,  under 
the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  remained  there  until  I  felt 
strong  enough  for  another  expedition.  Meanwhile, 
my  guide  held  forth  to  me  on  the  glories  of  Toledo, 
and  carried  the  impudence  of  the  love  of  country  so 
far  as  to  call  it  a  great  commercial  city,  which  could 
buy  out  Barcelona  and  Valencia,  and  a  city  so  well 
fortified  as  to  wear  out,  were  it  necessary,  ten  German 
armies  and  a  thousand  batteries  of  Krupp's  cannon. 
At  every  one  of  his  boasts  I  kept  urging  him  on, 
and  the  good  man  enjoyed  himself  immensely. 
How  much  amusement  one  can  obtain  in  making 
these  people  talk !  Finally,  when  the  proud  Tole- 
dan  felt  himself  so  puffed  up  with  glory  that  the 
cloister  could  no  longer  contain  him,  he  said,  "  We 
can  go  now ;"  and  he  moved  off  toward  the  door  of 
the  bell  tower. 

When  we  had  climbed  half-way  up,  we  stopped 
to  take  breath.  The  guide  knocked  at  a  little  door, 
and  a  presumptuous  little  sacristan  appeared  and 
opened  another  door  leading  into  a  corridor,  where 
I  saw  a  group  of  gigantic  puppets  most  curiously 
dressed.  Four  of  these  (so  the  guide  told  me)  re- 
presented Europe,  Asia,  America,  and  Africa,  and 
two  others.  Faith  and  Religion.  They  were  made  so 
that  a  man  could  conceal  himself  in  them  and  raise 
them  from  the  ground. 

"  They  are  taken  out,"  added  the  sacristan,  "  on 
royal  fete  days,  and  arc  carried  about  the  city." 


TOLEDO.  245 

Then,  wishing  to  show  me  the  modus  operandi,  he 
got  under  the  petticoats  of  Asia.  Next  he  led  me 
to  a  corner  where  there  was  an  enormous  monster, 
which,  touched  at  some  point,  extended  a  very  lono- 
neck  and  a  horrible  head,  with  deafening  noise.  He 
could  not  tell  me,  however,  what  that  horrible  crea- 
ture meant,  and  begged  me  to  admire  instead,  the 
marvellous  Spanish  imagination,  which  created  so 
many  new  things  that  it  could  furnish  them  to  all  the 
known  world.  I  admired,  paid,  and  continued  the 
ascent  with  my  Toledan  picnvre.  From  the  top  of 
the  bell  tower  one  enjoys  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
city,  the  hills,  the  river,  and  an  immense  horizon  ; 
and  below,  that  great  pile,  the  cathedral,  which  looks 
like  a  mountain  of  granite.  There  is,  however,  an- 
other heiofht,  at  a  short  distance  from  which  one 
sees  everything  better ;  and,  therefore,  I  remained 
but  a  few  moments  on  the  tower,  because  the  sun 
was  so  strong  that  all  the  colors  of  the  city  and  coun- 
try were  bathed  in  an  ocean  of  light. 

After  seeing  the  cathedral,  my  guide  took  me  to 
the  famous  church  of  Sail  yuan  de  los  Reyes,  situated 
on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus.  My  mind  is  still  con- 
fused when  I  think  of  the  twists  and  turns  we  were 
obliged  to  make  in  order  to  reach  it.  It  was  mid- 
day ;  the  streets  were  deserted  ;  little  by  little,  as  we 
went  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  heart  of  the 
city,  the  solitude  became  more  intense.  Not  an 
open  door  or  window  was  to  be  seen,  nor  was  the 
slightest  noise  to  be  heard.  At  one  time  I  fancied 
that  the  guide  was  in  league  with  some  assassin  to 
decoy  me  into  a  quiet  place  in  order  to  rob  me  ;  for 
he  certainly  had  a  suspicious-looking  face,  and,  added 
to  this,  he  kept  glancing  here  and  there  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  meditating  a  crime. 


246  SPAIN. 

"  Have  we  much  farther  to  go  ?  "  I  asked,  from 
time  to  time,  and  he  always  repHed  ;  "  it  is  right  here," 
but  we  never  reached  it.  At  a  certain  point  my 
anxiety  changed  to  fear  :  in  a  tortuous  httle  street  a 
door  opened,  two  bearded  men  came  out,  made  a 
sign  to  \he  pzeuvre,  and  came  behind  us.  I  thought 
my  hour  had  arrived.  There  was  only  one  means 
of  escape  ;  and  that  was  to  give  a  blow  to  the  guide, 
throw  him  down,  pass  over  his  body,  and  take  to  my 
heels.  But  which  way  should  I  go  ?  On  the  other 
hand,  the  extravagant  praise  which  Thiers  lavishes 
on  the  jambes  Espagnolcs  in  his  "  History  of  the 
War  of  the  Independence  "  came  to  m)^  mind  ;  and 
I  thought  that  flight  would  only  be  an  expedient 
which  would  enable  my  enemy  to  plant  his  dagger 
in  my  back  instead  of  my  heart.  Ah,  me  !  Was  I 
to  die  without  seeing  Andalusia !  To  die  after  hav- 
ing taken  so  many  notes,  after  having  given  so  many 
pour  boires,  to  die  with  my  pockets  full  of  letters  of 
introduction,  my  purse  filled  with  doubloons,  my 
passport  with  so  many  signatures,  to  die  through  be- 
trayal !  As  good  fortune  willed  it,  the  two  bearded 
men  disappeared  at  the  first  turn  of  the  street,  and 
I  was  saved.  Then,  filled  with  repentance  at  having 
suspected  that  this  poor  old  man  was  capable  of 
crime,  I  moved  on  to  his  left  side,  offered  him  a 
cigar,  told  him  that  Toledo  was  worth  two  Romes, 
and  paid  him  a  thousand  compliments.  Finally  we 
reached  San  yiian  de  los  Reyes. 

It  is  a  church  which  looks  like  a  royal  palace.  The 
highest  portion  is  covered  by  a  terrace  surrounded 
with  a  perforated  and  sculptured  parapet,  upon  which 
rises  a  number  of  statues  of  kings,  and  in  the  centre 
is  a  beautiful  hexagon-shaped  cupola  that  completes 
the  perfect  harmony  of  the  church.     From  the  walls 


TOLEDO.  247 

hang  long  iron  chains  that  were  taken  from  the 
Christian  prisoners  after  the  conquest  of  Granada, 
and  which,  together  with  the  dark  color  of  the  stone, 
give  to  the  church  a  severe  yet  picturesque  ap- 
pearance. We  entered,  crossed  two  or  three  great 
bare  rooms  without  any  pavement,  filled  with  piles 
of  earth  and  debris,  climbed  a  staircase,  and  came 
out  on  a  high  tribune  inside  the  church,  which  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  noble  monuments  of 
Gothic  art.  It  is  a  single,  great  nave,  the  roof  of 
which  is  divided  into  four  vaults,  whose  arches  cross 
under  rich  roses.  The  pilasters  are  covered  with 
garlands  and  arabesques ;  the  walls  ornamented  with 
a  profusion  of  bas-reliefs,  with  enormous  shields  from 
the  arms  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  eagles,  chimeras, 
heraldic  animals,  leaves,  and  emblematical  inscrip- 
tions. The  tribune,  which  is  perforated  and  sculpt- 
ured with  richness  and  elegance,  runs  all  around ; 
the  choir  is  supported  by  a  very  bold  arch  ;  the  color 
of  the  stone  is  light-gray,  and  everything  is  admir- 
ably finished,  and  still  intact,  as  if  the  church  had 
been  built  a  few  years  since,  instead  of  at  the  end  of 
the  fifteenth  century* 

We  went  from  the  church  down  into  the  cloister, 
which  is  a  marvel  of  architecture  and  sculpture. 
There  are  slender  and  lovely  columns  that  might  be 
broken  in  two  by  the  blow  of  a  marble  hammer,  re- 
sembling the  trunks  of  young  trees,  that  sustain  the 
capitals  overladen  with  statuettes  and  ornaments, 
from  which  project  (like  curved  boughs)  arches  or- 
namented with  flowers,  birds,  grotesque  animals,  and 
every  kind  of  frieze.  The  walls  are  covered  with  in- 
scriptions in  Gothic  characters,  mingled  with  leaves 
and  very  delicate  arabesques.  No  matter  where 
one  looks,  one  finds  grace  and  richness  combined 
with   a   harmony   that  is    bewitching ;  in  an  equal 


248  SPALV. 

space,  one  could  not  collect,  with  more  exquisite  art, 
a  greater  number  of  lovely  and  beautiful  things.  It 
is  a  luxurious  garden  of  sculpture,  a  great  room  dec- 
orated with  embroideries,  quiltings,  and  brocades  in 
marble,  a  grand  monument,  majestic  as  a  temple, 
magnificent  as  a  royal  palace,  delicate  as  a  plaything, 
and  graceful  as  a  bunch  of  flowers. 

After  the  cloister,  one  must  see  the  picture-gal- 
lery, which  only  contains  some  pictures  of  little 
value  ;  and  then  the  convent,  with  its  long  corridors, 
narrow  staircases,  empty  cells,  falling  into  decay  in 
some  places,  and  quite  in  ruins  in  others,  and  every- 
where as  bare  and  squalid  in  appearance  as  a  build- 
ing after  a  fire. 

At  a  short  distance  from  San  yuan  de  los  Reyes, 
there  is  another  monument  worthy  of  being  seen  ; 
a  curious  record  of  the  Judiac  epoch  ;  the  synagogue 
now  designated  by  the  name  of  Santa  Maria  Blanca. 
One  enters  a  neglected  garden,  knocks  at  the  door 
of  a  wretched-looking  house,  the  door  opens  .... 
and  one  experiences  a  pleasant  feeling  of  surprise, 
and  beholds  a  vision  of  the  East,  the  sudden  revela- 
tion of  another  religion  and  another  world.  There 
are  five  narrow  aisles,  divided  by  four  long  rows  of 
little  octagonal  columns,  which  support  as  many 
Turkish  arches  upheld  by  capitals  of  stucco  in  dif- 
ferent forms  ;  the  ceiling  is  of  cedarwood,  divided 
into  compartments  of  equal  size  ;  here  and  there  on 
the  walls  are  arabesques  and  Arabic  inscriptions  ; 
the  light  which  falls  from  above  making  every  thing 
white.  The  synagogue  was  changed  by  the  Arabs 
into  a  mosque,  and  the  mosque  was  transformed  by 
the  Christians  into  a  church  ;  so  that  it  is  really  not 
one  of  these  three  things  at  present,  though  it 
preserves  the  character  of  the  mosque,  and  the  eye 


TOLEDO,  249 

sweeps  over  it  with  delight,  and  the  imagination  fol- 
lows from  arch  to  arch  the  fleeting  images  of  a 
voluptuous  paradise. 

Having  seen  Santa  Maria  la  Blanca;  I  felt  too 
weary  to  look  at  any  thing  else,  and  repulsing  all 
the  tempting  proposals  of  the  guide,  I  ordered  him 
to  take  me  back  to  the  hotel.  After  a  long  walk 
through  a  labyrinth  of  solitary  little  streets,  we 
reached  it.  I  put  2.  peseta  and  a  half  in  the  hand  of 
my  innocent  assassin,  who  found  the  sum  a  small 
one,  and  asked  me  for  (how  I  laughed  at  the  word) 
a  ^v[\2S[  gratification ;  and  I  entered  the  dining-room 
to  eat  a  cutlet,  or  chiilcta,  as  the  Spanish  call  it,  a 
name  which  would  make  people  turn  up  their  noses 
in  some  provinces  of  Italy. 

Toward  evening  I  went  to  see  the  Alcazar.  The 
name  makes  one  hope  for  an  Arabian  palace  ;  but 
there  is  nothing  Arabian  about  it  except  its  name  ; 
the  edifice  which  one  admires  to-day  was  built  under 
the  reign  of  Charles  V,  on  the  ruins  of  a  castle,  which 
existed  in  the  eighth  century,  although  only  very 
vague  indications  of  the  fact  are  to  be  found  in  the 
chronicles  of  that  period.  This  building  stands  on  a 
height  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  so  that  its  walls  and 
towers  can  be  seen  from  all  the  higher  portions  of 
the  street,  and  the  stranger  may  use  it  as  a  guide  out 
of  the  labyrinth.  I  climbed  to  the  height  by  a  long 
winding  street,  like  the  one  which  leads  from  the 
plain  to  the  city,  and  found  myself  before  the  door 
of  the  Alcazar.  It  is  an  immense  square  palace,  at 
whose  corners  rise  four  great  towers  which  give  it 
the  formidable  appearance  of  a  fortress.  Before  the 
fagade  extends  a  large  square,  and  all  around  it  a 
belt  of  embattled  bulwarks  in  the  oriental  style.  The 
entire  edifice  is  of  a  decided  chalk  color,  varied  with 


250  SPAIN. 

a  thousand  shadings  by  that  powerful  painter  of  mon- 
uments, the  blazing  sun  of  the  south  ;  and  is  ren-* 
dered  brighter  by  the  very  limpid  sky,  upon 
which  the  majestic  outlines  of  its  walls  stand  out  in 
bold  relief.  The  fagade  is  sculptured  in  arabesques 
with  a  taste  full  of  nobility  and  elegance.  The  in- 
terior of  the  palace  corresponds  with  the  exterior  ; 
there  is  an  immense  court,  encircled  with  two  rows 
of  graceful  arches,  one  above  the  other,  which  are 
supported  by  light  columns  ;  with  a  magnificent 
marble  staircase,  that  rises  in  the  centre  of  the  side 
opposite  the  door,  and  is  divided,  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  ground,  into  two  parts,  which  lead,  on  the 
right  and  left,  to  the  interior  of  the  palace.  In  order 
to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  court,  one  must  go  to  the 
point  where  the  staircase  branches  ofT,  for  there  one 
embraces  with  a  glance  the  whole  harmony  of  the 
building  which  causes  a  feeling  of  pleasure  like  con- 
certed music  produced  by  scattered  and  unseen 
artists. 

With  the  exception  of  the  court,  the  other  por- 
tions of  the  edifice,  such  as  the  staircase,  rooms, 
corridors,  and  every  thing,  in  fact,  are  already  in 
ruins,  or  falling  into  decay.  Now  they  are  at  work 
on  the  palace  changing  it  into  a  military  college. 
The  walls  are  being  whitened  ;  the  walls  are  torn 
down  to  make  great  dormitories  ;  the  doors  num- 
bered ;  and  this  royal  dwelling  is  being  converted 
into  a  barracks.  The  subterranean  portions,  how- 
ever, which  served  as  stables  for  Charles  V,  and 
which  can  hold  thousands  of  horses,  are  still  intact. 
The  guide  made  me  look  out  of  a  window,  from 
which  I  saw  an  abyss  that  gave  me  an  idea  of  their 
vastness.  Then  we  climbed  a  series  of  rickety 
stairs,    into    one    of    the    four    towers ;    the   guide 


TOLEDO.  251 

Opened,  with  pincers  and  a  hammer,  a  nailed-up 
window,  and  said  to  me,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
is  announcingf  somethinof  marvellous  : 

"  Look,  sir  !  " 

It  was  a  stupendous  panorama.  One  gets  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  the  city  of  Toledo,  street  by 
street,  house  by  house,  as  one  would  see  the  plan 
stretched  out  upon  a  table.  Here  is  the  cathe- 
dral, which  rises  above  the  city  like  an  immense 
castle,  and  makes  all  the  surrounding  edifices 
look  as  small  as  play-houses  ;  there,  the  terrace 
(covered  with  statues)  of  San  Juan  de  los  Reyes  ; 
in  another  point  the  embattled  towers  of  the  new- 
gate  ;  the  bull  circus  ;  the  Tagus,  that  flows  at  the 
foot  of  the  city,  between  the  rocky  banks  ;  beyond 
the  river,  near  the  bridge  of  Alcantara,  on  a  steep 
rock,  are  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle  of  San  Servando. 
Farther  away  lies  a  green  plain,  and  beyond  are 
rocks,  hills,  and  mountains,  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach.  Above,  is  the  clear  sky,  and  the  setting  sun, 
which  gilds  the  tops  of  the  old  buildings,  and  makes 
the  river  gleam  like  a  silver  scarf. 

While  I  was  contemplating  that  magical  spectacle, 
the  guide,  who  had  read  the  history  of  Toledo,  and 
wished  to  make  the  fact  known,  related  every  sort 
of  story  to  me,  in  that  half  poetical,  half  facetious 
way,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  southern  Spaniard. 
First  of  all,  he  wished  me  to  hear  the  history  of  the 
works  of  fortification  ;  and  although  where  he  de- 
clared that  he  saw  quite  distinctly  all  that  he  was 
pointing  out  to  me,  I  saw  nothing,  I  succeeded  in 
understanding  somethinor  about  it. 

He  told  me  that  Toledo  had  been  encircled  with 
walls  three  times,  and  that  one  could  still  clearly  see 
the  traces  of  all  three  boundaries. 


252  SPAIN. 

"  Look,"  he  said  ;  "  follow  the  line  which  my 
finger  describes  :  that  is  the  Roman  boundary,  the 
closest,  and  one  can  see  its  ruins  yet.  Now,  look 
further  on.  That  other,  broader  still,  is  the  Gothic 
boundary.  Then  describe  a  curve  with  your  eyes, 
which  will  take  in  the  two  ;  that  is  the  Arabian 
boundary,  the  most  recent  of  them  all.  The  Arabs 
built  a  narrow  boundary  on  the  ruins  of  the  old  one  ; 
that  you  certainly  can  see.  Now  observe  the  direc- 
tion of  the  streets  which  converg-e  toward  the  hio-h- 
est  portion  of  the  city  ;  follow  the  line  of  the  roofs, 
like  this :  you  will  see  that  all  the  streets  ascend 
zig-zag;  and  were  laid  out  thus  on  purpose  to  de- 
fend the  city  even  after  the  walls  were  destroyed  ; 
and  the  houses  were  built  thus  close  to  one  another, 
so  that  people  could  leap  from  roof  to  roof,  you 
see.  The  Arabs  left  a  writing  to  this  effect,  and 
this  is  the  reason  why  the  gentlemen  from  Madrid 
make  me  laugh  when  they  come  here  and  say : 
'  Pah !  what  streets ! '  It  is  plain  to  be  seen  that 
they  do  not  know  the  first  thing  about  history  ;  if 
they  knew  a  little  more  about  it ;  if  they  would  read 
a  trifle  instead  of  passing  their  days  at  the  Prado 
and  Recoletos,  they  would  understand  that  there  is 
a  reason  for  the  narrow  streets  of  Toledo,  and  that 
it  is  not  a  city  for  ignorant  people." 

I  began  to  laugh. 

"You  do  not  believe  me  ?  "  continued  the  guide  ; 
"  it  is  an  absolute  fact.  Not  one  week  ago,  to  cite  a 
case,  one  of  these  Madrid  dandies  came  here  with 
his  wife.  Even  when  they  were  mounting  the  steps 
they  l)cgan  saying  all  sorts  of  things  of  the  city 
and  its  narrow  streets  and  dark  houses.  When  they 
stood  at  this  window,  and  saw  those  two  old  towers 
down   there  on  the   plain,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 


TOLEDO  253 

Tagus,  they  asked  me  what  they  were,  and  I  re- 
plied :  '  Los  palacios  de  Gaiiana.'  '  Oh,  what  beauti- 
ful palaces ! '  they  exclaimed,  beginning  to  laugh, 
and  looking  in  another  direction.  Why  did  they  do 
it  ?  Why,  because  they  did  not  know  their  history  ; 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  you  know  it  either  ;  but 
then  you  are  a  stranger,  and  that  is  another  matter. 
You  must  know  that  when  the  great  Emperor  Char- 
lemagne was  very  young,  he  came  to  Toledo.  King 
Galafro,  who  was  reigning  then,  lived  in  that  palace. 
This  king  had  a  daughter  called  Gaiiana,  who  was  as 
beautiful  as  an  angel ;  and  as  Charlemagne  was  the 
king's  guest  and  saw  the  princess  every  day,  he  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  her,  she  reciprocating  his 
affection.  However,  there  was  a  rival,  and  this  rival 
was  none  other  than  the  King  of  Guadalajara,  a  gi- 
gantic Moor  of  herculean  strength,  and  as  coura- 
geous as  a  lion.  This  king,  in  order  to  see  the  prin- 
cess without  being  discovered,  had  had  a  subterra- 
nean passage  opened  that  led  from  the  city  of 
Guadalajara  to  the  foundation  of  the  palace.  But 
what  did  this  avail }  The  princess  could  not  bear 
the  sight  of  him,  even  in  miniature,  and  as  many 
times  as  he  came  just  so  many  times  did  she  send 
him  back  disconsolate.  This,  however,  did  not  pre- 
vent the  enamored  king  from  paying  her  court,  and, 
in  fact,  he  hung  around  her  so  much  that  at  last 
Charlemagne,  who  was  not  a  man  to  submit  to  this 
sort  of  thing,  lost  his  patience,  as  you  may  well 
imagine,  and  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  the  matter, 
challenged  him.  They  fought  ;  the  struggle  was 
terrible  ;  but  the  Moor,  although  he  was  a  giant,  got 
the  worst  of  it.  When  he  was  dead,  Charlemagne 
cut  off  his  head,  and  went  and  laid  it  at  the  feet  of 
his  inamorata,   who  appreciated  the  delicacy  of  the 


2  54  SPAIN. 

offering,  became  a  Christian,  gave  her  hand  to  the 
prince,  and  left  with  him  for  France  ;  there  she  was 
proclaimed  empress." 

"  And  the  head  of  the  Moor,  what  became  of 
that?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  laughing  at  me,  but  I  assure  you 
this  is  a  solemn  fact.  Do  you  see  that  old  building 
in  the  highest  part  of  the  city  ?  It  is  the  church  of 
San  Gines.  Would  you  like  to  know  what  is  in  it  ? 
Well,  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  door  of  a  sub- 
terranean passage  which  extends  to  the  distance  of 
three  leagues  from  Toledo.  You  do  not  believe  it ; 
well,  listen  :  On  the  spot  where  the  church  of  San 
Gines  stands,  there  was  once,  before  the  Arabs  in- 
vaded Spain,  an  enchanted  palace.  No  king  had 
ever  had  the  courage  to  enter  it ;  those  who  might 
have  dared  do  it,  did  not,  however,  because,  accord- 
ing to  the  tradition,  the  first  one  who  passed  the 
portal  would  have  been  the  ruin  of  Spain.  Finally, 
King  Roderic,  before  starting  for  the  battle  of  Gua- 
dalete,  hoping  to  find  therein  some  treasures  which 
would  furnish  a  means  of  defendinof  himself  aofainst 
the  invasion  of  the  Arabs,  had  the  doors  pulled 
down,  and,  preceded  by  his  warriors,  who  lighted 
the  way,  he  entered.  After  a  great  deal  of  difficulty 
in  keeping  their  torches  lighted,  on  account  of  the 
strong  wind  which  was  blowing  in  these  subterra- 
nean passages,  they  reached  a  mysterious  chamber, 
where  they  saw  a  coffer,  upon  which  was  written  : 
'  He  who  opens  me  will  see  marvels,'  The  king 
ordered  it  to  be  opened,  which  they  only  succeeded 
in  doing  with  great  difficulty  ;  but  instead  of  gold 
and  diamonds  they  merely  found  a  rolled  canvas, 
upon  which  some  armed  Arabs  were  painted,  and 
under  them  was  this  inscription  :  '  Spain  will  be  de- 


TOLEDO.  255 

stroyed  in  a  short  time  by  these  men!  That  same 
night  a  violent  tempest  broke  out,  the  enchanted 
palace  fell,  and  shortly  thereafter  the  Arabs  entered 
Spain.  You  do  not  seem  to  believe  this!" 
"  Oh,  nonsense  ;  who  should  believe  it  ?  " 
"  This  history  is  connected  with  another.  You 
doubtless  know  that  the  Count  Julian,  commandant 
of  the  fortres  of  Ceuta,  betrayed  Spain,  allowing 
Arabs  to  pass,  to  whom  he  should  have  barred  the 
passage.  You  cannot  know,  however,  why  Count 
Julian  betrayed  Spain.  He  had  a  daughter  at  To- 
ledo, and  this  daughter  went  every  day  to  bathe  in 
the  Tagus,  together  with  several  of  her  friends. 
Unfortunately,  the  place  where  she  bathed,  which 
was  called  Los  baiios  de  la  Cava,  was  near  a  tower, 
in  which  King  Roderic  used  to  pass  the  warm  hours 
of  the  day.  One  day  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian, 
whose  name  was  Florinda,  tired  of  playing  in  the 
water,  seated  herself  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and 
said  to  her  com-panions  :  '  Let  us  see  who  has  the 
most  beautiful  leg  ! '  '  Let  us  see  ! '  they  all  replied. 
No  sooner  said  than  done,  for  they  seated  them- 
selves around  Florinda,  and  each  displayed  her 
beauties.  Florinda,  however,  bore  off  the  palm  ; 
and,  unfortunately,  just  as  she  was  saying,  '  Look ! ' 
King  Roderic  appeared  at  the  window,  and  saw 
every  thing.  He  was  young,  and  a  libertine,  so 
took  fire  like  a  match,  paid  court  to  the  beautiful 
Florinda,  seduced  and  abandoned  her,  and  this 
caused  the  fury  for  revenge  in  Count  Julian,  as  well 
as  the  betrayal  and  invasion." 

At  this  point  I  thought  that  I  had  heard  enough, 
so  I  gave  the  custodian  a  couple  of  reales,  which  he 
took,  and  put  into  his  pocket  in  a  dignified  way, 
and  giving  a  last  glimpse  at  Toledo,  I  went  down 
from  the  tower. 


256  SPAIN. 

It  was  the  promenade  hour  ;  the  principal  street, 
which  is  scarcely  wide  enough  to  admit  of  the  pas- 
sage of  a  carriage,  was  full  of  people.  There  may 
have  been  some  hundreds  of  persons,  but  they 
seemed  to  be  a  great  crowd.  It  was  growing  dark  ; 
the  shops  were  closing,  and  a  few  lights  began  to 
shine  here  and  there.  I  went  to  dine,  and  left  the 
house  immediately  afterward,  in  order  not  to  lose 
the  spectacle  of  the  promenade.  It  was  night  ; 
there  was  no  other  illumination  than  the  light  of  the 
moon  ;  one  could  not  see  the  people's  faces  ;  it 
seemed  to  me  like  being  in  the  midst  of  a  proces- 
sion of  spectres,  and  I  was  seized  with  a  feeling  of 
melancholy.  "  To  think  that  I  am  alone,"  I  said  ; 
"  that  in  this  whole  city  there  is  not  one  soul  who 
knows  me  ;  that  if  I  were  to  fall  dead  at  this  mo- 
ment, there  would  not  be  a  clog  who  w^ould  say  ; 
'  Poor  fellow !  He  was  a  good  creature ! '  "  I  saw 
gay  youths,  fathers  of  families,  with  their  children, 
and  wives  (or  those  who  seemed  to  be  wives)  with 
a  dear  little  thing  in  their  arms,  going  by  ;  every 
one  had  a  companion  ;  they  were  all  laughing  and 
talking,  and  they  passed  without  even  giving  me  a 
glance.  How  sad  I  was !  How  happy  I  should 
have  been  if  a  boy,  a  beggar,  or  a  policeman  had 
come  to  say  :  "  I  think  I  know  you,  sir  !  "  "  It  is 
impossible ;  I  am  a  stranger  ;  I  ha\'e  never  before 
been  at  Toledo  ;  but  never  mind  ;  don't  go  away  ; 
stay  here  ;  we  will  talk  a  little  while,  for  I  am  alone!  " 

At  a  happy  moment  I  remembered  that  at  Mad- 
rid a  letter  of  introduction  had  been  given  me  for  a 
gentleman  in  Toledo  ;  I  rushed  to  the  hotel,  got  it, 
and  had  some  one  take  me  immediately  to  his  house. 
The  gentleman  was  at  home,  and  received  me  cour- 
teously.    On   hearing  my  name   uttered,  I   experi^ 


TOLEDO.  257 

enced  such  a  feeling  of  delight,  that  I  could  have 
thrown  my  arms  around  his  neck.  He  was  Antonio 
Gamero,  the  author  of  the  much  esteemed  history  of 
Toledo.  We  passed  the  evening  together  ;  I  asked 
him  about  a  hundred  things ;  he  told  me  of  a  thou- 
sand ;  and  read  me  several  fine  pages  from  his  book, 
which  gave  me  a  greater  knowledge  of  Toledo  than 
I  should  have  acquired  after  a  month's  sojourn 
there. 

The  city  is  poor,  or  more  than  poor,  it  is  dead  ; 
the  rich  people  have  abandoned  it  to  go  and  live  at 
Madrid  ;  the  men  of  genius  have  followed  the  lead 
of  the  rich  ;  there  is  no  commerce  ;  the  manufac- 
ture of  Toledo  blades  (the  only  industry  which  flour- 
ishes) provides  maintenance  for  some  hundreds  of 
families,  but  it  is  not  sufficient  for  the  entire  city  ; 
popular  education  has  fallen  away  ;  and  the  people 
are  inert  and  miserable.  Yet  they  have  not  lost 
their  beautiful  ancient  characteristics.  Like  all  the 
people  of  the  great  decayed  cities,  they  are  proud 
and  chivalrous  ;  abhor  base  actions  ;  mete  out  justice 
with  their  own  hand,  when  they  can,  to  assassins 
and  thieves  ;  and  although  Zorilla,  in  one  of  his  bal- 
lads, has  called  them,  without  any  metaphor,  an  im- 
becile people,  this  is  not  the  case,  for  they  are  both 
wide  awake  and  bold.  They  share  the  gravity  of 
the  Spaniards  of  the  north,  and  the  vivacity  of  those 
of  the  south  ;  and  hold  their  own  place  between  the 
Castilian  and  the  Andalusian.  Spanish  is  spoken  by 
them  with  great  taste  and  with  a  greater  variety  of 
accent  than  by  the  people  of  Madrid,  and  with  less 
carelessness  than  by  the  people  of  Cordova  and  Se- 
ville. Poetry  and  music  they  worship  ;  and  they 
are  proud  to  enumerate  among  their  great  men  the 
gentle  Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,  the  reformer  of  Spanish 


258  SPAIN. 

poetry,  and  the  clever  Francis  de  Rojas,  the  author 
of  Garcia  del  Castanar ;  and  they  are  dehghted  to 
see  artists  and  savants  from  all  the  countries  in  the 
world  gather  within  the  walls  of  their  city  to  study 
the  history  of  their  nations  and  the  monuments  of 
their  civilizations.  No  matter,  however,  what  its 
people  may  be,  Toledo  is  dead  ;  the  city  of  Wamba, 
Alphonso  the  brave,  and  Padilla,  is  now  only  a 
tomb.  From  the  time  Philip  II  removed  his  capi- 
tal, it  has  been  declining,  is  declining  still,  and  is 
consuming  itself  little  by  little,  alone  on  the  summit 
of  its  sad  mountain,  like  a  skeleton  abandoned  upon 
a  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

I  returned  to  the  hotel  just  before  midnight. 
The  moon  was  shining;  and  on  moonlight  nights, 
although  the  rays  of  that  silvery  orb  do  not  pene- 
trate into  the  little  narrow  streets,  the  lamps  are  not 
lighted,  so  I  was  obliged  to  walk,  feeling  my  way  al- 
most as  a  thief  would  do  when  committing  a  bure- 
lary.  With  my  head  full,  as  it  was,  of  fantastic 
ballads,  in  which  the  streets  of  Toledo  are  described 
as  being  filled  at  night  with  cavaliers  enveloped  in 
their  mantles,  who  sing  under  the  windows  of  the 
fair  sex,  fight,  kill  each  other,  place  ladders  up 
against  palace  and  abduct  the  young  girls,  I 
might  have  imagined  that  I  should  hear  the  sounds 
of  guitars,  the  clashing  of  swords,  and  the  cries  of 
dying  people.  Nothing  of  the  sort ;  the  streets 
were  silent  and  deserted,  the  windows  dark  ;  and  I 
barely  heard  from  time  to  time,  at  the  corners  and 
cross-roads,  some  light  rustle  or  fugitive  whisper,  so 
that  one  could  not  tell  exactly  from  what  direction 
they  came.  I  reached  the  hotel  without  having  ab- 
ducted any  young  Toledan,  which  might  have 
caused  to  me  unpleasantness,  but  also  without  re- 


TOLEDO.  259 

ceiving  any  holes  in  my  body,  a  circumstance  cer- 
tainly rather  consoling. 

The  following  morning  I  visited  the  hospital  of 
the  San  Cruz;  the  church  of  Niiestra  Scfiora  del 
Tra7isito,  an  ancient  synagogue  ;  the  remains  of  an 
amphitheatre  and  of  a  naumachy  of  the  time  of  the 
Romans ;  and  the  famous  manufactory  of  arms, 
where  I  purchased  a  beautiful  dagger  with  silvered 
handle  and  arabesqued  blade,  that  I  have  this  mo- 
ment on  my  table,  and  which,  when  I  close  my  eyes 
and  seize  it,  makes  me  feel  that  I  am  still  there,  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  factory,  a  mile  from  Toledo, 
under  a  mid-day  sun,  among  a  crowd  of  soldiers,  and 
in  a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke.  I  remember  that  on 
returning  to  Toledo  on  foot,  while  I  was  crossing  a 
plain  solitary  as  a  desert  and  silent  as  a  catacomb, 
a  formidable  voice  shouted  : 

"  Out  with  the  stranger  !  " 

The  voice  came  from  the  city  ;  I  stopped,  I  was 
the  stranger,  that  cry  was  directed  against  me,  I 
"was  startled,  and  the  solitude  and  silence  of  the 
place  increased  my  fright.  I  went  on,  and  the  voice 
shouted  again  : 

"  Out  with  the  strangfer  !  " 

"Is  it  a  dream?"  I  exclaimed,  stopping  again, 
"  or  am  I  awake  ?  Who  is  it  that  is  shouting  ?  and 
wherefore  ?  " 

I  resumed  my  walk,  and  a  third  time  came  the 
voice  : 

"  Out  with  the  stransfer  !  " 

I  stopped  the  third  time,  and  while  I  glanced 
around  me  quite  uneasily,  I  saw  a  boy  seated  on 
the  ground,  who  looked  laughingly  at  me  and  said  : 

"7?  is  an  irisane person  who  tJiinks  he  is  living  in 
the  time  of  the  War  of  the  Independence  ;  there  is  the 
Insane  Asylum." 


26o  SPAIN. 

He  pointed  out  the  asylum,  on  a  height,  among 
the  most  distant  houses  of  Toledo,  and  I  drew  a 
long  breath  which  would  have  extinguished  a 
torch. 

That  evenino-  I  left  Toledo,  with  the  reeret  of  not 
having  had  time  enough  to  see  and  see  again  all  that 
is  antique  and  noteworthy  there  ;  this  regret  was  mit- 
igated, however,  by  the  ardent  desire  I  had  to  reach 
Andalusia,  which  gave  me  no  peace.  How  long 
a  time  I  had  Toledo  before  my  eyes  ;  how  long  I 
saw  and  dreamed  of  those  steep  rocks,  enormous 
walls,  those  dreary  streets,  and  the  fantastic  appear- 
ance of  that  mediaeval  city !  To-day,  even,  I  often 
revive  the  picture  with  a  sad  pleasure  and  severe 
melancholy,  and  this  picture  leads  my  mind  back  to 
a  thousand  strange  thoughts  of  remote  times  and 
marvellous  occurrences. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


CORDOy-A. 


ON  reaching  Castillejo  I  was  obliged  to  wait  un- 
til midnight  for  the  train  for  Andalusia  ;  1 
dined  on  hard-boiled  eo-o-s,  and  oranofes,  with  a  little 
Val  de  Penas  wine,  murmured  the  poetry  of  Es- 
pronceda,  chatted  a  trifle  with  the  custom-house 
officer  (who,  by  the  way,  made  me  a  profession  of  his 
political  faith  :  Amadeus,  hberty,  increase  of  salary 
of  the  custom-house  officers,  etc.),  until  I  heard  the 
desired  whistle,  when  I  got  into  a  railway  carriage 
filled  with  women,  boys,  civil  guards,  cushions,  and 
wraps  ;  and  away  we  went  at  a  speed  unusual  on 
Spanish  railways.  The  night  was  very  beautiful  ; 
my  travelling  companions  talked  of  bulls  and  Car- 
lists  ;  a  beautiful  girl,  whom  more  than  one  devoured 
with  his  eyes,  pretended  to  sleep  in  order  to  excite 
our  fancy  with  a  sample  of  her  nocturnal  attitudes  ; 
some  were  making  cigm^rifos,  some  peeling  oranges, 
and  others  humming  arias  of  Zarzziela.  Neverthe- 
less, I  fell  asleep  after  a  few  moments.  I  think  I  had 
already  dreamed  of  the  Mosque  of  Cordova  and  the 
Alcazar  of  Seville,  when  I  was  awakened  by  a  hoarse 
cry  : 

"  Daggers  /" 

"  Daggers  ?     In  heaven's  name  !     For  whom  ?' 
Before  I  saw  who  had  shouted,  a  long  sharp  blade 

261 


262  SPAIN. 

gleamed  before  my  eyes,  and  the  unknown  person 
asked  : 

''  Do  you  like  it?'' 

One  must  really  confess  that  there  are  more 
agreeable  ways  of  being  waked.  I  looked  at  my 
travelling  companions  with  an  expression  of  stupor 
which  made  them  all  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh. 
Then  I  was  told  that  at  every  railway  station  there 
were  these  venders  of  knives  and  daggers,  who 
offered  travellers  their  wares  just  as  newspapers  and 
refreshments  are  offered  with  us.  Reassured  as  to 
my  life,  I  bought  (for  five  lire)  my  scarecrow,  which 
was  a  beautiful  dagger  suitable  for  the  tyrant  of  a 
tragedy,  with  its  chased  handle,  an  inscription  on  the 
blade,  and  an  embroidered  velvet  sheath  ;  and  I  put 
it  in  my  pocket,  thinking  that  it  would  be  quite  use- 
ful to  me  in  Italy  in  settling  any  questions  with  my 
publishers.  The  vender  must  have  had  fifty  of  them 
in  a  great  red  sash  which  was  fastened  around  his 
waist.  Other  travellers  bought  them  too  ;  the  civil 
guards  complimented  one  of  my  neighbors  on  his 
capital  selection  ;  the  boys  cried  : 

"  Give  me  one  too  !  " — and  their  mammas  replied: 
"  We  will  buy  a  longer  one  some  other  time." 
"  O  blessed  Spain ! "  I  exclaim.ed,  as   I  thought, 
with  disgust,  of   our  barbarous  laws  which  prohibit 
the  innocent  amusement  of  a  little  sharp  steel. 

We  crossed  the  Mancha,  the  celebrated  Mancha, 
the  immortal  theatre  of  the  adventures  of  Don 
Quixote.  It  is  just  as  I  imagined  it.  There  are 
broad  bare  plains,  long  tracts  of  sandy  earth,  some 
wind-mills,  a  few  miserable  villages,  solitary  paths, 
and  wretched,  abandoned  houses.  (*  On  seeing  those 
places,  I  experienced  a  feeling  of  melancholy  which 
the  perusal  of  Cervantes'  book  always  rouses  ;  and 


CORDOVA.  263 

I  repeated  to  myself  what  I  always  say  in  reading 
it :  "  This  man  cannot  make  one  laugh,  or  if  he  does, 
under  the  smile  the  tears  spring  up."  Don  Quixote 
is  a  sad  and  solemn  character  ;  his  mania  is  a 
lament ;  his  life  is  the  history  of  the  dreams,  illu- 
sions, disappointments,  and  aberrations  of  us  all  ; 
the  struggle  of  reason  with  the  imagination,  of  the 
true  with  the  false,  the  ideal  with  the  real!  We  all 
have  somethino^  of  Don  Quixote  about  us  ;  we  all 
take  windmills  for  giants;  are  all  spurred  upward, 
from  time  to  time,  by  an  impulse  of  enthusiasm,  and 
driven  back  by  a  laugh  of  disdain  ;  are  all  a  mixture 
of  the  sublime  and  the  ridiculous  ;  and  feel,  with 
profound  bitterness,  the  perpetual  contrast  between 
the  greatness  of  our  aspirations  and  the  weakness  of 
our  powers.  O  beautiful,  childish,  and  youthful 
dreams,  generous  proposals  to  consecrate  our  lives 
to  the  defense  of  virtue  and  justice,  cherished  fancies 
of  confronted  dangers,  daring  struggles,  magnani- 
mous exploits,  and  lofty  loves,  which  have  fallen,  one 
by  one,  like  the  leaves  of  flowers,  on  the  narrow, 
monotonous  path  of  life,  how  you  have  been  revivi- 
fied, and  what  charming  thoughts  and  profound  in- 
struction we  have  derived  from  you,  O  generous 
and  unfortunate   cavalier   of  sad  figure  ! 

At  dawn  we  reached  Argasamilla,  where  Don  Quix- 
ote was  born  and  died,  and  where  poor  Cervantes,  the 
collector  of  the  Grand  Priory  of  San  Juan,  was  arrested, 
in  the  name  of  the  special  magistrate  of  Consuegra, 
by  irascible  debtors,  and  kept  a  prisoner  in  a  house 
that,  as  they  say,  is  still  in  existence,  and  in  which 
he  is  said  to  have  conceived  the  idea  of  his  romance. 
We  passed  the  village  of  the  Val  de  Penas,  that 
gives  its  name  to  one  of  the  most  delicious  wines  of 
Spain,  a  wine  black,  sparkling,  and  exhilarating  (and 


264  SPAIN. 

the  only  one,  perhaps,  which  permits  to  the  stranger 
from  the  North  the  copious  hbations  to  which  he  is 
accustomed  at  meals),  and  finally  reached  Santa 
Cruz  de  Tudela,  a  village  famous  for  its  manufac- 
tories o{  Jiaz'aj'as  iymvQs  and  razors),  near  which  the 
road  begins  to  ascend  gradually  toward  the  moun- 
tain. 

The  sun  had  risen,  the  women  and  children  had 
left  the  carriage,  and  peasants,  officers,  and  to7^eros, 
who  were  going  to  Seville,  had  taken  their  places. 
There  was  in  that  restricted  space  a  variety  of 
dress  that  would  not  be  seen  with  us  even  on  a 
market  day.  There  were  the  pointed  hats  of  the 
peasants  of  the  Sierra  Morena,  the  red  trowsers  of 
the  soldiers,  great  sombreros  of  the  picadores,  the 
shawls  of  the  gypsies,  the  niantas  of  Catalans,  the 
Toledo  blades  hung  on  the  walls,  and  capes,  sashes, 
and  trinkets  of  all  the  colors  of  a  harlequin. 

The  train  moved  on  among  the  rocks  of  the  Sierra 
Morena,  which  separates  the  valley  of  the  Guadiana 
from  that  of  the  Guadalquiver,  made  famous  by  the 
songs  of  poets  and  the  exploits  of  brigands.  The 
road  runs,  from  time  to  time,  between  two  walls  of 
stone  cut  into  points,  and  so  high,  that  in  order  to 
see  their  tops  it  is  necessary  to  put  one's  head  en- 
tirely out  of  the  window,  and  turn  the  face  upward 
as  if  to  look  at  the  roof  of  the  carriage.  At  some 
pomts  the  rocks  are  farther  away,  and  rise  one  above 
the  other  ;  the  first  in  the  shape  of  enormous  broken 
boulders,  and  the  last  upright,  slender,  and  like  bold 
towers  raised  upon  measureless  bastions.  In  the 
centre,  there  is  a  pile  of  rocks,  cut  like  teeth,  lad- 
ders, crests,  and  dwarfs,  some  almost  suspended  in 
the  air,  others  separated  by  deep  caverns  and  fright- 
ful precipices,  which  present  a  confusion  of  strange 


CORDOVA.  265 

forms,  fantastic  outlines  of  buildings,  gigantic  figures 
and  ruins,  and  offer  at  every  step  a  thousand  shapes 
and  unexpected  aspects  ;  and  on  that  infinite  variety 
of  forms  there  Is  as  great  a  variety  of  colors,  shades, 
rays,  and  floods  of  light.  For  a  long  distance  on  the 
right,  the  left,  and  above,  nothing  Is  to  be  seen  but 
stone,  without  a  house,  a  path,  or  a  particle  of  earth 
where  a  man  could  plant  his  foot ;  and  as  one  goes 
on,  the  rocks,  caverns,  precipices,  and  every  thing,  in 
fact,  become  broader,  deeper,  and  loftier,  until  the 
highest  point  of  the  Sierra  Is  reached,  where  the 
sovereign  majesty  of  the  spectacle  draws  forth  an 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

There  the  train  stopped  for  a  few  moments,  and 
all  the  travellers  put  their  heads  out  of  the  window. 

"  Here,"  one  person  said  to  another,  "  Cardenio 
(one  of  the  most  notable  personages  In  Don  Quix- 
ote) leaped  In  his  shirt  from  rock  to  rock  In  order  to 
do  penance  for  his  sins." 

"  I  would,"  continued  the  traveller,  "  that  Sagasta 
were  forced  to  do  the  same." 

All  laughed,  and  each  beo^an  to  look,  on  his  own 
account,  for  some  invidious  politician,  upon  whom  to 
inflict,  In  Imagination,  that  species  of  punishment. 
One  proposed  Serrano,  another  Topete,  and  the  rest 
others  ;  so  that  In  a  few  moments  (if  their  desires 
had  been  fulfilled)  we  should  have  seen  the  Sierra 
peopled  with  ministers,  generals,  and  deputies  In 
their  shirts  slipping  from  ledge  to  ledge,  like  the 
famous  rock  of  Alexander  Manzoni. 

The  train  started  again,  the  rocks  disappeared, 
and  the  delicious  valley  of  the  Guadalquiver,  the 
garden  of  Spain,  the  Eden  of  the  Arabs,  the  para; 
dlse  of  poets  and  painters,  the  blessed  Andalufiia 
disclosed  itself  to  my  eyes.     I  feel  again  the  tremor 


266  SPAIN. 

of  childish  joy  with  which  I  dashed  to  the  window, 
saying  to  myself,  as  I  did  so  : 

"  Let  me  enjoy  it !" 

For  a  long  distance  the  country  offers  no  new  as- 
pect to  the  feverish  curiosity  of  the  tourist.  At 
Vilches  there  is  a  vast  plain,  and  beyond  there,  the 
open  country  of  Tolosa,  where  Alphonso  VIII,  King 
of  Castile,  gained  the  celebrated  victory  de  las  Navas 
over  the  Mussulman  army.  The  sky  was  very  clear, 
and  in  the  distance  one  could  see  the  mountains  of 
the  Sierra  di  Segura.  Suddenly,  there  comes  over 
me  a  sensation  which  seems  to  respond  to  a  sup- 
pressed exclamation  of  surprise  :  the  first  aloes,  with 
their  thick  leaves,  the  unexpected  heralds  of  tropical 
vegetation,  rise  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  Beyond, 
the  fields  studded  with  flowers  begin  to  appear. 
The  first  are  studded,  those  which  follow  almost 
covered,  then  come  vast  stretches  of  ground  entirely 
clothed  with  poppies,  daisies,  lilies,  wild  mushrooms, 
and  ranunculuses,  so  that  the  country  (as  it  presents 
itself  to  view)  looks  like  a  succession  of  immense 
purple,  gold,  and  snowy-hued  carpets.  In  the  dis- 
tance, among  the  trees,  are  innumerable  blue,  white, 
and  yellow  streaks,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  ;  and 
nearer,  on  the  banks  of  the  ditches,  the  elevations 
of  ground,  the  slopes,  and  even  on  the  edge  of  the 
road  are  flowers  in  beds,  clumps,  and  clusters,  one 
above  the  other,  grouped  in  the  form  of  great  bou- 
quets, and  trembling  on  their  stalks,  which  one  can 
almost  touch  with  his  hand.  Then  there  are  fields 
white  with  great  blades  of  grain,  flanked  by  planta- 
tions of  roses,  orange  groves,  immense  olive  groves, 
and  hillsides  varied  by  a  thousand  shades  of  green, 
surmounted  by  ancient  Moorish  towers,  scattered 
with  many-colored  houses;  and  between  the  one  and 


CORDOVA.  267 

the  other  are  white  and  slender  bridges  that  cross 
rivulets  hidden  by  the  trees.  On  the  horizon  ap- 
pear the  snowy  caps  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  ;  under 
that  white  streak  lie  the  undulating  blue  ones  of  the 
nearer  mountains.  The  country  becomes  more 
varied  and  flourishing  ;  Arjonilla  lies  in  a  grove  of 
olives,  whose  boundary  one  cannot  see  ;  Pedro  Abad, 
in  the  midst  of  a  plain  covered  with  vineyards  and 
fruit-trees  ;  Ventas  di  Alcolea,  on  the  last  hills  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  peopled  with  villas  and  gardens. 
We  are  approaching  Cordova,  the  train  flies  along, 
we  see  little  stations  half  hidden  by  trees  and 
flowers,  the  wind  carries  the  rose  leaves  into  the 
carriages,  great  butterflies  fly  near  the  windows,  a 
delicious  perfume  permeates  the  air,  the  travellers 
sing,  we  pass  through  an  enchanted  garden,  the 
aloes,  oranges,  palms,  and  villas  grow  more  frequent; 
and  at  last  we  hear  a  cry :     "  Here  is  Cordova!" 

How  many  lovely  pictures  and  grand  recollections 
the  sound  of  that  name  awakens  in  one's  mind  ! 

Cordova,  the  ancient  pearl  of  the  West,  as  the  Ara- 
bian poets  call  it,  the  city  of  cities,  Cordova  of  the  thirty 
suburbs  and  three  thousand  mosques,  which  enclosed 
within  her  walls  the  greatest  temple  of  Islam  !  Her 
fame  extended  throughout  the  East,  and  obscured 
the  glory  of  ancient  Damascus.  The  faithful 
came  from  the  most  remote  regions  of  Asia  to  the 
banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  to  prostrate  themselves 
in  the  marvellous  Mihrab  of  her  mosque,  in  the  light 
of  the  thousand  bronze  lamps  cast  from  the  bells  of 
the  cathedrals  of  Spain.  Hither  flocked  artists, 
savants,  and  poets,  from  every  part  of  the  Mahome- 
tan .world,  to  her  flourishing  schools,  immense 
libraries,  and  the  magnificent  courts  of  her  Caliphs. 
Riches  and  beauty  flowed  in,  attracted  by  the  fame 


268  SPAIN. 

of  her  splendor.  From  here  they  scattered,  eager 
for  knowledije,  aloncr  the  coasts  of  Africa,  throuQ^h 
the  schools  of  Tunis,  Cairo,  Bagdad,  Cufa,  and  even 
to  India  and  China,  in  order  to  gather  inspiration 
and  records  ;  and  the  poetry  sung  on  the  slopes  of 
the  Sierra  Morena  flew  from  lyre  to  lyre,  as  far  as 
the  valleys  of  the  Caucasus,  to  excite  the  ardor  for 
pilgrimages.  The  beautiful,  powerful,  and  wise  Cor- 
dova, crowned  with  three  thousand  villages,  proudly 
raised  her  white  minarets  in  the  midst  of  orange 
groves,  and  spread  around  the  valley  a  voluptuous 
atmosphere  of  joy  and  glory  ! 

I  leave  the  train,  cross  a  garden,  look  around  me, 
I  am  alone  ;  the  travellers  who  were  with  me  disap- 
pear here  and  there  ;  I  still  hear  the  noise  of  a  car- 
riage which  is  rolling  off;  then  all  is  quiet.  It  is 
midday,  the  sky  is  very  clear,  and  the  air  suffocating. 
I  see  two  white  houses  ;  it  is  the  opening  of  a  street ; 
I  enter,  and  go  on.  The  street  is  narrow,  the  houses 
as  small  as  the  little  villas  on  the  slopes  of  artificial 
gardens, almost  all  one  story  in  height,  with  windows 
a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  the  roofs  so  low  that 
one  could  almost  touch  them  with  a  stick,  and  the 
walls  very  white.  The  street  turns,  I  look,  see  no 
one,  and  hear  neither  step  nor  voice.  I  say  to  my- 
self: "  This  must  be  an  abandoned  street!  "  and  try 
another  one,  in  which  the  houses  are  white,  the 
windows  closed,  and  there  is  nothing  but  silence  and 
solitude  around  me.  "  Why,  where  am  I?  "  I  asked 
myself.  I  go  on ;  the  street,  which  is  so  narrow  that 
a  carriage  could  not  pass,  begins  to  wind  ;  on  the 
right  and  the  left  I  see  other  deserted  streets,  white 
houses,  and  closed  windows.  My  step  resounds  as 
if  in  a  corridor.  The  whiteness  of  the  walls  is  so 
vivid  that  even  the  reflection  is   trying,  and  I   am 


CORDOVA.  269 

obliged  to  walk  with  my  eyes  half  closed,  for  it  really 
seems  as  if  I  were  making  my  way  through  the 
snow.  I  reach  a  small  square  ;  every  thing  is  closed 
and  no  one  is  to  be  seen.  At  this  point  a  vague 
feeling  of  melancholy  seizes  me,  such  as  I  have 
never  experienced  before ;  a  mixture  of  pleasure  and 
sadness,  similar  to  that  which  comes  to  children  when, 
after  a  long  run,  they  reach  a  lonely  rural  spot,  and 
rejoice  in  their  discovery,  but  with  a  certain  trepida- 
tion lest  they  should  be  too  far  from  home.  Above 
many  roofs   rise  the  palm   trees  of  inner  gardens. 

0  fantastic  legends   of  Odalisk  and  Caliphs!      On 

1  go,  from  street  to  street,  and  square  to  square  ;  I 
begin  to  meet  some  people,  but  they  pass  and  disap- 
pear like  phantoms.  All  the  streets  resemble  each 
other ;  the  houses  have  only  three  or  four  windows  ; 
and  not  a  spot,  scrawl,  or  crack  is  to  be  seen  on  the 
walls,  which  are  as  smooth  and  white  as  a  sheet  of 
paper.  From  time  to  time  I  hear  a  whisper  behind 
a  blind,  and  see,  almost  at  the  same  moment,  a  dark 
head,  with  a  flower  in  the  hair,  appear  and  disappear. 
I  look  in  at  a  door     *     *     * 

A  patio  !  How  shall  I  describe  a  patio?  It  is 
not  a  court,  nor  a  garden,  nor  a  room  ;  but  it  is  all 
three  things  combined.  Between  the  patio  and  the 
street  there  is  a  vestibule.  On  the  four  sides  of  the 
patio  rise  slender  columns,  which  support,  up  to  a 
level  with  the  first  floor,  a  species  of  gallery,  en- 
closed in  glass ;  above  the  gallery  is  stretched  a  can- 
vas, which  shades  the  court.  The  vestibule  is 
paved  with  marble,  the  door  flanked  by  columns, 
surmounted  by  bas-reliefs,  and  closed  by  a  slender 
iron  gate  of  graceful  design.  At  the  end  of  the 
patio,  in  a  line  with  the  door,  rises  a  statue ;  in  the 
centre  there  is  a  fountain ;  and  all  around  are  scat- 


270  SPAIN. 

tered  chairs,  work-tables,  pictures,  and  vases  of 
flowers.  I  run  to  another  door  ;  there  is  another 
patio,  with  its  walls  covered  with  ivy,  and  a  number 
of  niches  holding  little  statues,  busts,  and  urns.  I 
look  in  at  a  third  door  ;  here  is  another  patio,  with 
its  walls  worked  in  mosaics,  a  palm  in  the  centre, 
and  a  mass  of  flowers  all  around.  I  stop  at  a  fourth 
door  ;  after  the  patio  there  is  another  vestibule,  after 
this  a  second  patio,  in  which  one  sees  other  statues, 
columns,  and  fountains.  All  these  rooms  and  gar- 
dens are  so  neat  and  clean  that  one  could  pass  his 
hand  over  the  walls  and  on  the  ground  without  leav- 
ing a  trace ;  and  they  are  fresh,  fragrant,  and  lighted 
by  an  uncertain  light,  which  increases  their  beauty 
and  mysterious  appearance. 

On  I  go,  at  random,  from  street  to  street.  As  I 
walk,  my  curiosity  increases,  and  I  quicken  my  pace. 
It  seems  impossible  that  a  whole  city  can  be  like 
this  ;  I  am  afraid  of  stumbling  across  some  house  or 
coming  into  some  street  that  will  remind  me  of  other 
cities,  and  disturb  my  beautiful  dream.  But  no,  the 
dream  lasts  ;  for  every  thing  is  small,  lovely,  and 
mysterious.  At  every  hundred  steps  I  reach  a 
deserted  square,  in  which  I  stop  and  hold  my  breath  ; 
from  time  to  time  there  appears  a  cross-road,  and  not 
a  living  soul  is  to  be  seen  ;  every  thing  is  white, 
the  windows  closed,  and  silence  reigns  on  all  sides. 
At  each  door  there  is  a  new  spectacle  ;  there  are 
arches,  columns,  flowers,  jets  of  water,  and  palms  ;  a 
marvellous  variety  of  design,  tints,  light,  and  per- 
fume ;  here  the  odor  of  roses,  there  of  oranges, 
farther  on  of  pinks  ;  and  with  this  perfume  a  whiff  of 
fresh  air,  and  with  the  air  a  subdued  sound  of 
women's  voices,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  and  the  sing- 
ing of  birds.     It  is  a  sweet  and  varied  harmony  that, 


CORDOVA.  271 

without  disturbing  the  silence  of  the  streets,  soothes 
the  ear  Hke  the  echo  of  distant  music.  Ah !  it  is 
not  a  dream  !  Madrid,  Italy,  Europe  are  indeed  far 
away  !  Here  one  lives  another  life,  and  breathes 
the  air  of  a  different  world,  for  I  am  in  the  East ! 

I  remember  that  at  a  certain  point  I  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  and  became  suddenly  aware, 
I  know  not  how,  that  I  was  sad  and  anxious,  and 
that  in  my  heart  there  was  an  immense  void,  which 
neither  pleasure  nor  surprise  could  fill.  I  felt  an  irre- 
sistible desire  to  enter  those  houses  and  gardens  ;  to 
rend,  as  it  were,  the  veil  of  mystery  which  surrounds 
the  life  of  the  unknown  people  who  were  there ; 
to  participate  in  that  life  ;  to  seize  some  hand ;  and  to 
fix  my  eyes  on  two  pitying  ones,  and  say  :  "I  am  a 
stranger,  and  alone  ;  I  too  wish  to  be  happy  ;  let  me 
remain  among  your  flowers,  let  me  enjoy  all  the 
secrets  of  your  paradise,  tell  me  who  you  are,  how 
you  live,  smile  on  me,  and  sooth  me,  for  my  head  is 
burning!"  This  sadness  reached  such  a  point  that 
I  said  to  myself:  "  I  cannot  stay  in  this  city,  for  I  am 
suffering  here.     I  will  go  away!  " 

And  I  should,  indeed,  have  left  if  I  had  not  fortu- 
nately remembered  that  I  had  in  my  pocket  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  two  young  men  in  Cordova, 
brothers  of  a  friend  of  mine  in  Florence.  I  set  aside 
the  idea  of  leaving  town,  and  went  in  search  of 
them. 

How  they  laughed  when  I  told  them  the  impres- 
sion that  Cordova  had  produced  upon  me!  They 
proposed  going  instantly  to  see  the  cathedral ;  we 
passed  through  a  little  white  street,  and  on  we  went. 

The  mosque  of  Cordova,  which  was  changed  into 
a  church  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Arabs,  but  which 
is  always  a  mosque,  was  built  on  the  ruins  of  the 


272  SPAIN. 

primitive  cathedral,  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
banks  of  the  Giiadalquiver.  Abdurrahman  began 
the  construction  of  it  in  the  year  7 85  or  786.  "  Let 
us  erect  a  mosque,"  he  said,  "  wliich  will  surpass 
those  of  Bagdad,  Damascus,  and  Jerusalem,  and  that 
shall  be  the  largest  temple  of  Islam,  and  the  Mecca 
of  the  West."  He  began  the  work  with  great  zeal ; 
the  Christian  slaves  brouo^ht  the  stones  for  the  foun- 
dation  from  the  ruins  of  the  destroyed  church, 
Abdurrahman  worked,  himself,  one  hour  each  day. 
The  mosque,  in  the  space  of  a  few  years,  was  built ; 
the  Caliphs  who  succeeded  Abdurrahman  embel- 
lished it,  and  after  a  century  of  nearly  continuous 
labor  the  work  was  completed. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  one  of  my  hosts,  stopping 
suddenly  before  an  immense  edifice. 

I  fancied  it  was  a  fortress,  but  it  proved  to  be, 
however,  the  wall  that  encircles  the  mosque ;  an  old, 
embattled  wall,  in  which  were  once  opened  twenty 
great  bronze  doors,  surrounded  by  very  beautiful 
arabesques  and  arched  windows,  supported  by 
slender  columns,  now  covered  with  a  triple  stratum 
of  plaster.  A  turn  around  that  boundary  wall  is  a 
nice  little  walk  to  take  after  dinner ;  by  this,  one  can 
judge  of  the  size  of  the  building. 

The  principal  door  of  the  boundary  is  at  the  west, 
on  the  spot  where  rose  the  minaret  of  Abdurrahman, 
on  the  point  of  which  waved  the  Mahometan  stand- 
ard. We  entered  ;  I  fancied  that  I  should  instantly 
see  the  interior  of  the  mosque,  and  I  found,  myself 
in  a  garden  filled  with  oranges,  cypresses, and  palms, 
surrounded  on  three  sides  by  a  very  light  portico, 
and  closed  on  the  fourth  side  by  the  fagade  of  the 
mosque.  In  the  centre  of  this  garden  there  was,  in 
the   time  of  the  Arabs,  the  fountain   for  their  ablu- 


CORDOVA.  273 

tions ;  and  under  the  shade  of  these  trees  the  faithful 
gathered  before  entering  the  temple.  I  stood  for 
some  moments  looking  around  me,  and  inhaling  the 
fresh  and  odorous  air  with  a  very  keen  sense  of 
pleasure.  My  heart  was  beating  at  the  thought  that 
the  famous  mosque  was  near,  and  I  felt  myself  im- 
pelled toward  the  door  by  intense  curiosity,  and  re- 
strained by  a  sort  of  childish  trepidation. 

"Let  us  enter,"  said  my  companions. 

"  One  moment  more,"  I  replied  ;  *'  let  me  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  anticipation." 

Finally,  I  made  a  move,  and  without  looking  at  the 
marvellous  doors,  which  my  companions  pointed  out, 
I  entered. 

What  I  may  have  done  or  said  as  I  got  inside,  I 
do  not  know,  but  certainly  some  strange  sound 
must  have  escaped  me,  or  I  must  have  made  a  curi- 
ous gesture,  for  some  people  who  were  coming 
toward  me  at  that  moment  beofan  lauQfhinof,  and 
turned  back  to  look  around,  as  if  to  try  and  discover 
what  could  have  produced  such  a  profound  impres- 
sion upon  me. 

Imagine  a  forest,  fancy  yourself  in  the  thickest 
portion  of  it,  and  that  you  can  see  nothing  but  the 
trunks  of  trees.  So,  in  this_  mosque,  on  whatever 
side  you  look,  the  eye  loses  itself  among  the  columns. 
It  is  a  forest  of  marble  whose  confines  one  cannot 
discover.  You  follow  with  your  eye,  one  by  one, 
the  very  long  rows  of  columns  that  interlace  at  every 
step  with  numberless  other  rows,  and  you  reach  a 
semi-obscure  background,  in  which  other  columns 
still  seem  to  be  gleaming.  There  are  nineteen  aisles 
which  extend  from  north  to  south,  traversed  by  thirty - 
three  others,  supported  (among  them  all)  by  more 
than    nine    hundred    columns    of  porphyry,   jasper, 


274  SPAIN. 

breccia  and  marbles  of  every  color.  Each  column 
upholds  a  small  pilaster,  and  between  them  runs  an 
arch,  and  a  second  one  extends  from  pilaster  to 
pilaster,  the  latter  placed  above  the  former,  and  both  of 
them  in  the  shape  of  a  horseshoe  ;  so  that,  in  im- 
agining the  columns  to  be  the  trunks  of  so  many 
trees,  the  arches  represent  the  branches,  and  the 
similitude  of  the  mosque  to  a  forest  is  complete. 
The  middle  aisle^  much  broader  than  the  others, 
ends  in  front  of  the  Maksura,  which  is  the  most 
sacred  part  of  the  temple,  where  the  Koran  was  wor- 
shipped. Here,  from  the  windows  in  the  ceiling, 
falls  a  pale  ray  of  light  that  illuminates  a  row  of 
columns  ;  there  is  a  dark  spot  ;  farther  on  falls  a 
second  ray  which  lights  another  aisle.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  express  the  feeling  of  mysterious  surprise 
which  that  spectacle  arouses  in  your  soul.  It  is  like 
the  sudden  revelation  of  an  unknown  religion,  nature 
and  life,  which  bears  away  your  imagination  to  the 
delight  of  that  paradise,  full  of  love  and  voluptuous- 
ness, where  the  blessed,  seated  under  the  shade  of 
leafy  plane  trees  and  thornless  rose-bushes,  drink 
from  crystal  vases  the  wine,  sparkling  like  pearls, 
mixed  by  immortal  children,  and  take  their  repose, 
in  the  arms  of  charming  black-eyed  virgins !  All 
the  pictures  of  eternal  pleasure  which  the  Koran 
promises  to  the  faithful,  present  themselves  to  your 
mind  bright,  gleaming,  and  vivid,  at  the  first  sight  of 
the  mosque,  and  cause  you  a  sweet  momentary  in- 
toxication, which  leaves  in  your  heart  an  indescrib- 
able sort  of  melancholy  !  A  brief  tumult  of  the 
mind,  and  a  spark  of  fire  rushes  through  your  veins, 
— such  is  the  first  sensation  one  experiences  upon  en- 
tering the  cathedral  of  Cordova. 

We  began  to  wander  from  aisle  to  aisle,  observ- 


CORDOVA.  275 

ing  everything  minutely.  How  much  variety  there 
is  in  that  edifice  which  at  first  sight  seems  so  uni- 
form !  The  proportions  of  the  cohimns,  the  designs 
of  the  capitals,  the  forms  of  the  arches  change,  one 
might  say,  at  every  step.  The  majority  of  the  col- 
umns are  old,  and  were  taken  from  the  Arabs  of 
Northern  Spain,  Gaul,  and  Roman  Africa,  and  some 
are  said  to  have  belonged  to  a  temple  of  Janus,  on 
the  ruins  of  which  was  built  the  church  that  the 
Arabs  destroyed  in  order  to  erect  the  mosque. 
Above  several  of  the  capitals  one  can  still  see  traces 
of  the  crosses  that  were  cut  on  them,  and  that  the 
Arabs  broke  with  their  chisels.  In  some  of  the  col- 
umns there  are  buried  bits  of  curved  iron,  to  which, 
it  is  said,  the  Arabs  bound  the  Christians  ;  and  one, 
among  others,  is  pointed  out  to  which,  according  to 
tradition,  a  Christian  was  chained  for  many  years, 
and  during  this  time,  he  scratched  wath  his  nails  a 
cross  in  the  stone  that  the  guides  show  with  great 
veneration. 

We  reached  the  Maksura,  which  is  the  most  com- 
plete and  marvellous  work  of  Arabian  art  in  the 
tenth  century.  In  front  of  it  are  contiguous  chapels, 
with  roofs  formed  ol  indented  arches,  and  the  walls 
covered  with  superb  mosaics  representing  groups  of 
flow^ers  and  sentences  from  the  Koran.  At  the  back 
of  the  middle  chapel,  is  the  principal  niihrab,  the 
sacred  place  where  the  spirit  of  God  rested.  It  is  a 
niche  with  an  octagonal  base  closed  at  the  top  by  a 
colossal  marble  shell.  In  the  mihrab  was  deposited 
the  Koran,  written  by  the  hand  of  the  Caliph  Oth- 
man,  covered  with  gold,  studded  with  pearls,  and 
nailed  above  a  chair  made  of  aloe  wood  ;  and  it  was 
around  this  that  the  thousands  of  pilgrims  came  to 
make  seven  turns  on  their  knees.     On  approaching 


2/6  SPAIN. 

the  wall  I  felt  the  pavement  giving  way  under  me  ; 
the  marble  was  hollowed  out ! 

On  coming  out  of  the  niche,  I  stopped  for  a  long 
time  to  look  at  the  ceiling  and  walls  of  the  prin- 
cipal chapel,  the  only  part  of  the  mosque  that  is 
quite  intact.  It  is  a  dazzling  gleam  of  crystals  of  a 
thousand  colors,  a  network  of  arabesques,  which 
puzzles  the  mind,  and  a  complication  of  bas-reliefs, 
gildings,  ornaments,  minutiae  of  design  and  coloring, 
of  a  delicacy,  grace,  and  perfection  sufficient  to  drive 
the  most  patient  painter  distracted.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  retain  any  of  that  pretentious  work  in  the 
mind.  You  might  turn  a  hundred  times  to  look  at 
it,  and  it  would  only  seem  to  you,  in  thinking  it  over, 
a  mingling  of  blue,  red,  green,  gilded,  and  luminous 
points,  or  a  very  intricate  embroidery  changing  con- 
tinually, with  the  greatest  rapidity,  both  design  and 
coloring.  Only  from  the  fiery  and  indefatigable  im- 
agination of  the  Arabs  could  such  a  perfect  miracle 
of  art  emanate. 

We  began  to  wander  about  the  mosque  again, 
looking  here  and  there  on  the  walls,  at  the  ara- 
besques of  the  old  doors,  which  are  being  discovered 
from  time  to  time  under  the  detestable  whitewash  of 
the  Christians.  My  companions  looked  at  me, 
laughed,  and  murmured  somethincr  to  each  other. 

"  Have  you  not  noticed  it  yet }  "  one  of  them 
asked  me. 

"  What  ?  " 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  again. 

"Do  you  think  you  have  seen  all  the  mosque?" 
began  one  of  my  companions. 

"  Why,  certainly  I  do,"  I  replied,  looking  around 
me. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  first,  "  you  have  not  seen  it 


CORDOVA.  277 

all ;  and  that  which  remains  to  be  seen  is   nothing 
less  than  a  church." 

"  A  church !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  surprise  ;  "  but 
where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Look,"  replied  the  other,  pointing,  "it  is  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  mosque." 

"  Heavens ! "     and    I   had  never   seen  it    at  all. 

One  can  judge  of  the  size  of  the  mosque  from 
this  fact.  We  went  to  see  the  church,  which  is 
beautiful  and  very  rich,  with  a  magnificent  high  altar, 
and  a  choir  worthy  of  a  place  beside  those  of  Burgos 
aud  Toledo  ;  but  like  all  things  that  are  out  of  place, 
it  arouses  one's  ancrer  rather  than  admiration. 
Without  this  church  the  general  appearance  of  the 
mosque  would  have  been  much  better.  The  same 
Charles  V,who  gave  the  chapter  permission  to  erect 
it,  repented  when  he  saw  the  Mahometan  temple  for 
the  first  time.  Beside  the  church  is  a  sort  of  Ara- 
bian chapel,  admirably  preserved,  and  rich  in  mosa- 
ics, not  less  varied  and  superb  than  those  of  the 
Maksura,  in  which  it  is  said  the  ministers  of  the  re- 
ligion gathered  to  discuss  the  book  of  the  prophet. 

Such  is  the  mosque  of  to-day,  but  what  must  it 
have  been  in  the  time  of  the  Arabs  ?  It  was  not 
surrounded  by  a  wall  ;  but  open,  so  that  one  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  garden  from  every  part  of  it  ; 
and  from  the  garden  one  could  see  to  the  end  of  the 
long  aisle,  and  the  air  was  permeated  even  under 
the  Maksura  with  the  fragrance  of  oranores  and 
flowers.  The  columns,  which  now  number  less  than 
a  thousand,  were  then  one  thousand  four  hundred  ; 
the  ceiling  was  of  cedar  wood  and  larch,  sculptured 
and  enamelled  in  the  finest  manner ;  the  walls  were 
trimmed  with  marble ;  the  light  of  eight  hundred 
lamps,  filled  with  perfumed  oil,  made  all  the  crystals 


278  SPAIN. 

in  the  mosaics  gleam,  and  produced  on  the  pave- 
ment, arches,  and  walls  a  marvellous  play  of  color 
and  reflection.  "  A  sea  of  splendors,"  sang  a  poet, 
"  filled  this  mysterious  recess  ;  the  ambient  air  was 
impregnated  with  aromas  and  harmonies,  and  the 
thoughts  of  the  faithful  wandered  and  lost  them- 
selves in  the  labyrinth  of  columns  which  gleamed 
like  lances  in  the  sunshine." 

Frederick  Schack,  the  author  of  a  fine  work  en- 
titled. The  Poetjy  and  Art  of  the  Arabs  in  Spain  and 
Sicily, g3.vQ  a  description  of  the  mosque  on  a  solemn 
fete  day,  which  presents  a  very  vivid  idea  of  Ma- 
hometan worship,  and  completes  the  picture  of  the 
monument. 

On  both  sides  of  the  almimbar  or  pulpit  wave  two 
standards  to  signify  that  Islam  has  triumphed  over 
Judaism  and  Christianity,  and  that  the  Koran  has  con- 
quered the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  The  almnedani 
climb  upon  the  gallery  of  the  high  minaret  and  intone 
the  sclani  or  salutation  to  the  prophet.  Then  the 
naves  of  the  mosque  fill  with  believers,  who,  clothed 
in  white  and  wearing  a  festive  aspect,  gather  for  the 
oration.  In  a  few  moments,  throughout  the  edifice 
nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  kneeling  people.  By  the 
secret  way  which  joins  the  temple  to  the  alcazar,  comes 
the  caliph,  who  goes  and  seats  himself  in  his  elevated 
place.  A  reader  of  the  Koran  reads  a  Sura  on  the 
reading-desk  of  the  tribune.  The  voice  of  the  7nnc- 
cin  sounds  again,  inviting  people  to  the  noonday 
prayers.  All  the  faithful  rise  and  murmur  their 
prayers,  making  obeisances.  A  servant  of  the 
mosque  opens  the  doors  of  the  pulpit  and  seizes  a 
sword,  with  which,  turning  toward  Mecca,  he  admon- 
ishes all  to  praise  Mohanimed,  while  the  prophet's 
name  is  being  celebrated  from  the  tribune   by  the 


CORDOVA.  279 

singing  of  the  mitbaliges.  After  this  the  preacher 
ascends  the  pulpit,  taking  from  the  hand  of  the  ser- 
vant the  sword,  which  recalls  and  symbolizes  the 
subjection  of  Spain  to  the  power  of  Islam.  It  is  the 
day  on  which  Djihad,  or  the  holy  war,  is  to  be  pro- 
claimed, the  call  for  all  able-bodied  men  to  descend 
into  the  battle  field  against  the  Christians.  The 
multitude  listen  with  silent  devotion  to  the  discourse 
(woven  from  the  heads  of  the  Koran),  which  begins 
like  this  : 

"  Praised  be  God,  who  has  increased  the  glory  of 
Islam,  thanks  to  the  sword  of  the  Champion  of  the 
Faith,  and  who,  in  his  holy  book,  has  promised  aid 
and  victory  to  the  believer. 

"  Allah  scatters  his  benefits  over  the  world. 

"  If  he  did  not  impel  men  to  dash  armed  against 
each  other  the  earth  would  be  lost. 

"  Allah  has  ordered  that  the  people  be  fought 
against  until  they  know  there  is  but  one  God. 

"  The  flame  of  war  will  not  be  extinguished  until 
the  end  of  the  world. 

"The  divine  benediction  will  fall  upon  the  mane 
of  the  war-horse  until  the  day  of  judgment. 

"  Be  you  armed  from  head  to  foot,  or  only  lightly 
armed,  rise,  and  take  your  departure  ! 

"  O  believers  !  What  will  become  of  you  if, 
when  you  are  called  to  battle,  you  remain  with  your 
face  turned  toward  the  ground  ? 

"  Do  your  prefer  the  life  of  this  world  to  that  of 
the  future  ? 

"  Believe  me  :  the  gates  of  paradise  stand  in  the 
shadow  of  the  sword. 

"  He  who  dies  in  battle  for  the  cause  of  God, 
washes  with  the  blood  he  sheds  all  the  stains  of  his 
sins. 


2  So  SPAIN. 

"His  body  will  not  be  washed  like  the  other  bod- 
ies, because  in  the  day  of  judgment  his  wounds  will 
send  out  a  fragrance  like  musk. 

"  When  the  warriors   shall   present  themselves  at 
the  gates  of  paradise,  a  voice  from  within  will  ask  : 
What  have  you  done  during  your  life  ?  ' 

"  And  they  will  reply  :  '  We  have  brandished 
the  sword  in  the  struggle  for  the  cause  of  God.' 

"  Then  the  eternal  gates  will  open  and  the  war- 
riors will  enter  forty  years  before  the  others. 

"  Up,  then,  O  believers  !  Abandon  women, 
children,  brothers,  and  v/orldly  possessions,  and  go 
forth  to  the  holy  war  ! 

"  And  thou,  O  God,  Lord  of  the  present  and  fu- 
ture woi*ld,  fight  for  the  armies  of  those  who  recog- 
nize thy  unity  !  Destroy  the  incredulous,  idolaters, 
and  enemies  of  thy  holy  faith !  Overthrow  their 
standards,  and  give  them,  with  all  they  possess,  as 
booty,  to  the  Mussulmans  !  " 

The  preacher,  when  he  has  finished  his  discourse, 
exclaims,  turning  toward  the  congregation  :  "  Ask 
of  God  !" — and  prays  in  silence.  All  the  faithful, 
touching  the  ground  with  their  foreheads,  follow  his 
example.  The  mubaliges  sing  :  "  Amen  !  Amen, 
O  Lord  of  all  beings  !"  Like  the  intense  heat  that 
precedes  the  tempest,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  multi- 
tude (restrained,  up  to  this  time,  in  a  marvellous 
silence)  breaks  out  in  loud  murmurs,  which,  rising 
like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  inundating  the  temple, 
finally  make  the  echo  of  a  thousand  united  voices 
resound  through  the  naves,  chapels,  and  vaults  in 
on£  single  shout :  "  There  is  no  God  but  Allah  !" 
/The  mosque  of  Cordova  is  still  to-day,  by|Lmiversal 
consent,  the  most  beautiful  Mussulman  temple,  and 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  monuments  in  the  world,      i 


CORDOVA.  281 

When  we  left  the  mosque,  a  great  portion  of  the 
hour  of  siesta  had  passed,  which  ever)^  one  takes  in 
the  cities  of  Southern  Spain,  and  which  is  quite  ne- 
cessary, on  account  of  the  insupportable  heat ;  and  the 
streets  began  to  be  peopled.  "  Alas  !"  I  said  to  my 
companions,  "  how  badly  a  high  hat  looks  in  the 
streets  of  Cordova  !  How  have  you  the  heart  to 
fasten  fashion  plates  to  this  beautiful  oriental  picture  ? 
Why  don't  you  dress  like  the  Arabs  ?"  Dandies, 
workmen,  and  girls  passed.  I  looked  at  them  all 
with  curiosity,  hoping  to  find  some  of  those  fantastic 
figures  which  Dore  pictured  to  us  as  the  represen- 
tatives of  the  Andalusian  type  ;  with  that  dark  brown 
coloring,  those  thick  lips,  and  great  eyes.  I  met 
none  of  them  however.  On  oroins:  toward  the  heart 
of  the  city,  I  saw  the  first  Andalusian  women,  ladies, 
young  ladies,  and  women  of  the  people,  almost  all 
small,  slender,  well-made,  some  of  them  beautiful, 
many  sympathetic,  and  the  greater  number,  as  in  all 
other  countries,  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl.  In  their 
dress,  with  the  exception  of  the  so-called  inantilla, 
there  is  no  difference  between  the  French  women 
themselves  and  our  own  ;  they  wear  great  masses 
of  false  hair,  in  braids,  bunches,  and  long  curls  ;  and 
short  petticoats,  full  ones  and  those  with  plaits  ;  and 
shoes  with  heels  like  the  points  of  daggers.  The 
ancient  Andalusian  costume  has  disappeared  from 
the  city. 

I  thouQfht  that  the  streets  would  be  crowded 
toward  evening,  but  I  only  saw  a  few  people,  and 
these  in  the  streets  of  the  principal  quarters  of  the 
town  ;  the  others  were  as  deserted  as  during  the 
hours  of  the  siesta.  It  is  just  through  these  deserted 
streets  that  one  ought  to  pass  in  order  to  enjoy  Cor- 
dova at  nicrht.     One  sees  the  lis^hts  orleaminof  in  the 


-82  SPAIN. 

patios;  the  pairs  of  lovers  holding  sweet  converse  in 
dark  corners ;  the  girls,  for  the  most  part,  at  the 
windows,  with  their  hands  carelessly  hanging  outside 
the  gratings  ;  and  the  young  men  near  the  wall,  in 
sentimental  attitudes,  their  eyes  on  the  alert,  but 
not  sufficiently  so  to  make  them  remove  the  hands 
Irom  their  lips,  until  they  discover  that  some  one  is 
passing  ;  and  one  hears  the  sound  of  guitars,  the 
murmur  of  fountains,  sighs,  the  laughter  of  children 
and  mysterious  rustlings. 

The  following  morning,  still  disturbed  by  the 
oriental  dreams  of  the  nio^ht,  I  beean  wanderine 
again  about  the  city.  It  would  take  an  entire 
volume  to  describe  all  that  is  worthy  of  note ;  for  it 
is  a  veritable  museum  of  Roman  and  Arabian  an- 
tiquity. Here  one  finds  a  profusion  of  military  col- 
umns, inscriptions  in  honor  of  the  emperors,  the 
remains  of  statues  and  bas-reliefs,  six  old  gates  ;  a 
large  bridge  over  the  Guadalquiver,  of  the  time  of 
Octavius  Augustus,  and  reconstructed  by  the  Arabs; 
ruins  of  towers  and  walls;  houses  which  belonged  to 
the  Caliphs,  and  still  retain  the  subterranean  columns 
and  arches  of  the  bathing-rooms.  In  fact,  on  every 
side  there  are  doors,  vestibules,  and  staircases  enough 
to  delight  a  legion  of  archeologists. 

Toward  midday,  in  passing  through  a  solitary 
street,  I  saw  written  on  the  wall  of  a  house,  near  a 
Roman  inscription  :  "  Casa  de  hiicspcdcs.  Alniuerzos  y 
coinidas ;"  and  in  reading  it  I  felt  the  cravings,  as 
Giusti  would  say,  of  such  a  low  appetite  that  I  de- 
termined to  gratify  it  in  this  little  place,  whatever  it 
might  be  on  which  I  had  stumbled.  I  passed 
through  a  small  door  and  found  myself  in  ^  patio.  It 
was  a  miserable  patio,  without  marble  or  foundations, 
but  as  white  as  snow  and  as  fresh  as  a  garden.     Not 


11    -^^  I  /"\ 


CORDOVA.  283 

seeing  either  table  or  chair,  I  feared  that  I  had  made 
a  mistake  in  the  door,  and  started  to  leave,  when  an 
old  woman,  who  appeared  from  I  know  not  where, 
stopped  me. 

•'  Can  one  have  something  to  eat  here  ?  "  I  asked, 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  have  you  ?  " 

"  Eggs,  sausages,  cutlets,  peaches,  oranges,   and 
Malaga  wine." 

"  Very  well ;  bring  me  every  thing  you  have." 

She  began  by  bringing  the  table  and  chair,  and  I 
sat  down  and  waited.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  door 
behind  me  open ;  I  turned.  Ye  heavenly  powers, 
what  did  I  see  !  The  most  beautiful  of  all  beautiful 
Andalusian  women,  not  alone  of  those  seen  at  Cor- 
dova, but  of  all  those  which  I  afterward  saw  at 
Seville,  Cadiz,  and  Granada.  She  was  an  over- 
whelmine  sort  of  sfirl,  who  would  make  one  take 
flight  or  commit  any  kind  of  a  deviltry  ;  and  had 
one  of  those  faces  which  made  Guiseppe  Baretti 
cry :  "  Oh  poor  me  !  "  when  he  was  travelling'  in 
Spain.  She  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments, 
with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  me,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Ad- 
mire me;"  then  turned  toward  the  kitchen  and  called: 
"  Aunt,  make  haste  !  "  which  gave  me  the  opportu- 
nity of  thanking  her  in  an  embarassed  way,  and  her 
the  pretext  of  approaching  me,  and  replying  :  "  Oh, 
not  at  all,"  with  such  a  lovely  voice  that  I  was  forced 
to  offer  her  a  chair,  which  she  accepted.  She  was  a 
girl  in  the  twenties,  tall,  straight  as  a  palm,  dark,  and 
with  two  great  eyes  full  of  sweetness,  and  so  moist 
and  glistening  that  they  seemed  to  have  just  been 
shedding  tears.  Her  hair  was  very  black  and  heavy, 
and  she  wore  a  rose  in  her  braids.  She  looked  like 
one  of  the  Arabian  virgins  of  the  Usras  tribe,  who 
made  people  die  from  love. 


284  SPAIN. 

She  began  the  conversation  herself. 

"  You  are  a  stranger,  sir,  I  think?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  French  ?  " 

"  ItaHan." 

"  Italian?     Ah,  a  countryman  of  the  king?^ 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  him,  sir?  " 

"  By  sight." 

'•  They  say  he  is  a  good  sort  of  fellow." 

1  made  no  reply ;  she  began  to  laugh,  and  said  : 

"  What  are  you  looking  at,  sir?  " 

And  continuing  to  laugh,  she  hid  her  foot  which, 
in  sitting  down,  she  had  put  well  forward,  so  that  I 
could  see  it.  Oh !  there  is  not  a  woman  in  that 
country  who  does  not  know  that  the  Andalusian  feet 
are  famous  throughout  the  world. 

I  seized  this  opportunity  to  draw  the  conversation 
upon  the  fame  of  Andalusian  women, and  I  expressed 
my  admiration  for  them  in  the  most  enthusiastic 
terms  in  my  vocabulary.  She  allowed  me  to  say 
what  I  wished,  looking  all  the  time  with  the  gravest 
attention  at  a  crack  in  the  table,  then  raised  her  head, 
and  asked  : 

"  How  are  the  women  in  Italy  ?  " 

*'  Oh !  they  are  beautiful  in  Italy  too." 

"  They  must  be  cold,  however." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed!  "  I  hastened  to  reply,  "  but  you 
know  that  in  every  country  the  women  have  an  'in- 
describable something  '  about  them  which  is  quite 
different  from  that  of  other  countries,  and  among 
these  '  indescribable  somethings'  that  of  the  Andalu- 
sians  is,  perhaps,  for  the  traveller  whose  hair  is  not 
crrav,  the  most  danijerous  of  all.  There  is  a  word 
which  just  expresses  what  I  mean  ;  if  I  could  remem- 
ber it,  I  should  say  :  '  Seiiorita,  you  are  the  most — ' 


CORDOVA.  285 

"  Salada  !  "  (exclaimed  the  girl,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands). 

"  Salada  !  .  .  the  most  salada  Andalusian  in 
Cordova."  > 

Salada,  salted,  is  the  word  quite  commonly  in  use 
in  Andalusia  when  you  wish  to  say  of  a  woman  that 
she  is  beautiful,  graceful,  lovely,  languid,  fiery,  and 
any  thing  else  in  fact ;  a  woman  who  possesses  two 
lips  that  seem  to  say  :  "  Drink  me,"  and  two  eyes 
that  force  you  to  bite  your  lips  to  keep  out  of  mis- 
chief. 

The  aunt  brought  me  the  eggs,  cutlets,  chorizo 
(sausage),  and  oranges,  and  the  girl  continued  the 
conversation. 

"  You  are  an  Italian,  sir ;  have  you  seen  the 
pope  ?  " 

"  No ;   I  regret  to  say  that  I  have  not." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  An  Italian  who  has  not  seen  the 
pope !  Tell  me,  sir,  why  do  you  Italians  treat  him 
so  badly?  " 

"  Treat  him  badly  ?  in  what  way  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  they  say  that  you  have  shut  him  up  in  a 
house,  and  that  you  throw  stones  at  his  windows." 

"What  nonsense!  Don't  believe  it!  There  is 
not  a  shadow  of  truth  in  it,  etc.,  etc." 

"  Have  you  seen  Venice  }  " 

"  Venice, — oh,  yes." 

"  Is  it  true  that  it  is  a  city  which  floats  on  the 
water? " 

Here  she  begged  me  to  describe  Venice,  and  tell 
her  about  the  people  of  that  strange  city,  how  they 
are  dressed,  and  what  they  do  all  day  long.  While 
I  was  talking,  aside  from  the  difficulty  I  had  in  ex- 
pressing myself  nicely, and  trying  to  swallow  a  badly-- 
cooked  egg  and  very  stale  sausage,  I  was  obliged  to 


286  SPAIN. 

see  her  draw  nearer  and  nearer,  perhaps  without  being 
aware  of  it,  in  order  to  hear  better  ;  to  draw  so  near 
that  I  caught  the  perfume  of  the  rose  in  her  hair 
and  the  heat  of  her  breath,  and  I  had  to  make  three 
efforts  at  a  time  to  restrain  myself:  one  with  my  head, 
the  other  with  my  stomach,  and  the  third  with  both 
together  when  I  heard  her  say  every  now  and  then  : 
"  How  beautiful!"  a  compliment  which  referred  to 
the  grand  canal,  and  which  produced  upon  me  the 
same  effect  that  the  sight  of  a  bag  of  napoleons, 
swung  under  his  nose  by  an  impertinent  banker, 
would  do  upon  a  beggar. 

"Ah  !  Sefiorita  !  "  I  said  at  last,  beginning  to  lose 
my  patience,  "  what  difference  does  it  make  in  the 
end  whether  a  city  is  beautiful  or  not  ?  A  person 
born  in  it  takes  no  notice  of  it  ;  nor  the  traveller 
either,  for  the  matter  of  that.  I  arrived  in  Cordova 
yesterday  ;  it  is  a  beautiful  place,  no  doubt,  but,  will 
you  credit  it  ?  I  have  already  forgotten  every  thing 
I  have  seen  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  see  any  thing  else  ;  in 
fact,  I  no  longer  know  where  I  am.  Palaces ! 
mosques !  they  make  me  laugh !  When  there  is  a 
fire  in  your  soul  which  is  consuming  you,  do  you  go 
to  a  mosque  to  extinguish  it  ?  Pardon  me,  but  will 
you  kindly  move  a  little  farther  away  ?  When  you 
are  attacked  by  such  a  mania  that  you  could  crack 
plates  with  your  teeth,  would  you  go  to  look  at  a 
palace  ?  Believe  me,  the  life  of  a  traveller  is  a  very 
hard  one  !  It  is  one  of  the  hardest  penances !  It  is 
a  martyrdom !  It  is  a  '^'  '■''  '•'  A  prudent  blow 
from  her  fan  closed  my  mouth,  which  was  going 
rather  too  fast  with  words  and  actions ;  so  I  attacked 
the  cutlet. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  the  Andalusian  murmured,  laugh- 
ing, after  giving  a  glance  around  her  ;  "  are  all  the 
Italians  as  fiery  as  you  ?  " 


CORDOVA.  287 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Are  all  the  Andalusian 
women  as  beautiful  as  you  ?  " 

The  girl  stretched  her  hand  out  on  the  table. 

"  Will  you  hide  that  hand  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Why?  "  she  asked. 

' '  Because  I  wish  to  eat  in  peace." 

"  Eat  with  one  hand." 

"Ah!" 

I  seemed  to  be  pressing  the  hand  of  a  child  of  six ; 
my  knife  fell  to  the  ground,  and  a  dense  veil  settled 
over  the  cutlet. 

Suddenly  I  felt  my  hand  empty  ;  I  opened  my 
eyes,  saw  that  the  girl  was  greatly  excited,  and 
turned  around  ;  gracious  heavens !  There  stood  a 
fine-looking  fellow,  with  a  spruce  jacket,  tight 
trowsers,  and  a  little  velvet  hat.  A  tor^ero,  in  fact. 
I  gave  a  start  as  if  I  felt  two  banderillas  de  fuego 
planted  in  my  neck. 

"  Ah,  I  see  how  matters  stand,"  I  said  to  myself, 
and  I  fancy  any  one  would  have  done  so.  The  girl, 
slightly  embarrassed,  made  the  presentation  : 

"This  is  an  Italian  who  is  passing  through  Cor- 
dova," then  she  added,  hastily,  "  and  who  wishes  to 
know  what  time  the  train  starts  for  Seville." 

The  torero,  who  had  scowled  at  the  sight  of  me, 
became  reassured,  told  me  the  hour  of  departure, 
seated  himself,  and  entered  amicably  into  conversa- 
tion with  me.  I  asked  him  the  news  of  the  last 
corrida  at  Cordova,  for  he  was  a  banderillero,  and 
he  related  all  the  day's  doing  minutely.  The  girl, 
meanwhile,  was  gathering  flowers  from  the  vases  in 
the  patio.  When  my  breakfast  was  ended,  I  offered 
a  glass  of  Malaga  wine  to  the  torero,  drank  to  the 
successful  planting  of  all  his  future  banderillas,  paid 
my  bill   (three  pesetas,  with  the  beautiful  eyes  in- 


2  88  SPAIN. 

eluded,  be  it  understood),  and  then  becoming  quite 
bold,  and  wishing  to  dissipate  even  the  shadow  of  a 
suspicion  in  the  soul  of  my  formidable  rival,  I  said  to 
the  girl  : 

"Senorita!  No  one  ever  denies  anything  to  a 
person  who  is  going  away.  I  am  like  a  dying  per- 
son to  you.  You  will  never  see  me  again.  You  will 
never  hear  my  name  mentioned  ;  so  please  give  me 
some  souvenir  ;  give  me  that  bunch  of  flowers." 

"  Here  it  is,"  the  girl  said.  "  I  had  gathered  it 
for  you." 

I  orave  a  o-lance  at  the  torero,  who  made  a  siofn  of 
approval. 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  I  replied,  mak- 
ing a  move  to  go.  They  both  accompanied  me  to 
the  door. 

"  Have  you  any  bull-fights  in  Italy  ?  "  the  young 
man  asked. 

"  O  Heavens,  no  !     We  have  none  yet." 

"  What  a  pity  !  Try  to  introduce  them  into  Italy 
too,  and  I  will  come  and  banderillear  at  Rome." 

"  I  will  do  all  that  I  can.  Senorita,  will  you  tell 
me  your  name  that  I  can  say  good-by  ?  " 

"  Consuelo." 

"  God  be  with  you,  Consuelo  !  " 

"  God  go  with  you,  Senor  Italiano!  " 

There  are  no  noteworthy  Arabian  monuments  to 
be  seen  around  Cordova.  Yet  at  one  time,  superb 
edifices  were  scattered  all  through  the  valley. 
Three  miles  from  the  city,  on  the  north,  on  the 
slope  of  a  hill,  rose  Medina  Az-Zahra,  "  xh^Jioicr- 
isJiUig  city!'  which  was  one  of  the  most  marvellous 
works  of  architecture  of  the  time  of  Abdurrahman 
III,  started  by  the  Caliph  himself  in  honor  of 
his   favorite,    whose    name   was    Az-Zahra.        The 


CORDOVA.  289 

foundations  were  laid  in  the  year  933,  and  ten 
thousand  workmen  labored  thereon  for  twenty- 
five  years.  The  Arabian  poets  celebrated  Medina 
Az-Zahra  as  the  most  superb  earthly  palace,  and 
the  most  delicious  garden  in  the  world.  It  was 
not  a  building,  but  an  immense  collection  of  palaces, 
gardens,  courts,  porticoes,  and  towers.  There  were 
exotics  from  Syria,  fantastic  jets  for  the  very  high 
fountains,  rivulets  lined  by  palms,  and  immense 
basins  filled  with  mercury,  which  gleamed  in  the  sun 
like  lakes  of  fire.  There  were  doors  of  ebony  and 
ivory  studded  with  pearls,  thousands  of  columns  of 
the  most  precious  marble,  great  aerial  terraces,  and 
among  the  innumerable  multitude  of  statues  there 
were  twelve  animals  of  massive  gold  (gleaming  with 
pearls),  from  whose  noses  and  mouths  fell  sprays  of 
perfumed  water.  In  this  immense  palace  was  a 
troop  of  servants,  slaves,  and  women,  and  musicians 
and  poets  flocked  hither  from  every  portion  of  the 
world.  Nevertheless,  this  Abdurrahman  III,  who 
dwelt  amid  so  many  delights,  who  reigned  for  fifty 
years,  was  powerful,  glorious,  and  fortunate  in  every 
undertakino-,  wrote  before  his  death  that  durine  his 
long  reign  he  had  never  been  happy  but  fourteen 
days  !  His  fabulous  "  flourishing  city  "  was  invaded, 
sacked,  and  burned  by  a  barbarous  horde  seventy- 
four  years  after  its  first  stones  had  been  laid,  and  to- 
day those  which  remain  hardly  suflice  to  recall  its 
name.  Not  even  the  ruins  are  to  be  found  of 
another  superb  city,  called  Zahira,  which  rose  on  the 
east  of  Cordova,  and  which  was  built  by  the  power- 
ful Almansur,  the  governor  of  the  kingdom  ;  for  a 
body  of  rebels  reduced  it  to  ashes  shortly  after  the 
death  of  its  founder. 

"  All    things    return    to   the   grand    old    mother 
earth." 


290  SPAIN. 

Instead  of  taking  a  drive  in  the  environs  of  Cor- 
dova, I  gave  myself  up  to  wandering  here  and  there, 
and  to  indulging  in  fancies  about  the  names  of  the 
streets,  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  one  of  the  greatest 
pleasures  a  man  can  enjoy  in  an  unknown  city. 
Cordova,  ahiia  ingeniorum  parens,  might  write  at 
every  corner  of  her  streets  the  name  of  an  artist  or 
illustrious  sarvant  born  within  her  walls  ;  and,  let  it 
be  said  to  her  honor,  she  has  remembered  them  all 
with  maternal  gratitude.  You  find  there  the  little 
square  of  Seneca,  and  there,  perhaps,  is  the  house  in 
which  he  was  born  ;  there  is  the  street  of  Lucan, 
the  street  of  Ambrosio  Morales,  the  historian  of 
Charles  V,  the  continuer  of  the  General  Qironicle  of 
Spain,  begun  by  Florian  de  Ocampo  ;  the  street  of 
Paul  Cespedes,  painter,  architect,  sculptor,  archeolo- 
gist,  author  of  a  didactic  poem,  The  Art  of  Painting, 
which,  though,  unfortunately,  unfinished,  contains 
some  beautiful  passages.  He  was  very  enthusiastic 
about  Michel  Angelo,  whose  works  he  had  admired 
in  Italy,  and  he  addressed  a  hymn  of  praise  to  him 
in  his  poem  which  is  one  of  the  finest  things  in 
Spanish  poetry  ;  and  despite  myself,  some  of  the 
last  lines  escape  from  my  pen.  He  says  he  does 
not  believe  that  the  perfection  of  painting  can  be 
better  shown. 

*  "  Que  en  aquella  escelente  obra  espantosa 
Mayor  de  cuantas  se  han  jamas  pintado, 
Que  hizo  el  Buonarrota  de  su  mano 
Divina,  en  el  etrusco  Vaticano  ! 

"  Cual  nuevo  Prometeo  en  alto  vuelo 
Alzandose,  estendio  las  alas  tanto, 
Que  puesto  encima  el  estrellado  cielo 
Una  parte  alcanz5  del  fuego  santo  ; 
Con  que  tornando  enriciuecido  al  suelo 

♦  See  Appendix  for  translation. 


CORDOVA.  291 

Con  nueva  maravilla  y  nuevo  espanto, 

Dio  vida  con  eternos  resplandores 

A  marmoles,  a  bronces,  a  colores. 

I  O  mas  que  mortal  hombre  !     i  Angel  divino 

O  cual  te  momare  ?     No  humano  cierto 

Es  tu  ser,  que  del  cerco  empireo  vino 

Al  estilo  y  pincel  vida  y  concierto  : 

Tu  mostraste  a  los  hombres  el  camino 

Por  mil  edades  escondido,  incierto 

De  la  reina  virtud  ;  a  ti  se  debe 

Honra  que  en  cierto  dia  el  sol  renueve," 

While  murmuring  these  Hues  I  came  out  on  the 
street  of  Juan  de  Mena,  the  Spanish  Ennius,  as  his 
fellow-citizens  call  him,  the  author  of  a  phantasma- 
gorical  poem,  entitled  The  Labyrinth,  an  imitation 
of  the  Divine  Comedy,  which  had  great  fame  in  its 
day,  and  is  not  without  some  pages  of  great  and  in- 
spired poetry  ;  but  very  cold,  and  filled,  as  a  whole, 
with  pedantic  mysticisms.  John  II,  King  of  Castile, 
was  quite  enthusiastic  about  this  Labyrinth,  kept  it 
beside  the  missal  in  his  closet,  and  carried  it  with  him 
to  the  hunt  ;  but,  behold  the  caprice  of  a  king !  The 
poem  had  only  three  hundred  chapters,  and  these 
seemed  too  few  for  John  II  ;  do  you  know  why? 
Simply  because  there  were  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days  in  the  year,  and  he  thought  there  ought  to 
be  just  as  many  chapters  in  the  poem.  So  he 
begged  the  poet  to  compose  sixty-five  more  ;  and  the 
poet  obeyed,  very  glad,  the  flatterer !  to  have  the  pre- 
text of  flattering  his  sovereign  more,  although  he 
had  already  gone  so  far  in  his  adulation  as  to  beg 
the  king  to  correct  his  verses  !  From  the  street  of 
Juan  de  Mena  I  passed  into  the  street  of  Gongora, 
the  Marini  of  Spain,  not  less  gifted  intellectually,  but 
perhaps  a  greater  corrupter  of  his  literature  than 
Marini  has  been  of  ours,  because  he  spoiled,  maimed. 


292  SPAIN, 

and  degraded  the  language  in  a  thousand  ways,  so 
that  Lopez  de  la  Vega  makes  a  follower  of  Gongora 
ask  one  of  his  listeners  : 

"  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  the  other  replies.  To  which  the  poet 
responds  : 

"  You  lie  !  because  I  do  not  even  understand  my- 
self!" 

Yet  not  even  Lopez  is  quite  free  from  Gongorism, 
when  he  dares  write  that  Tasso  was  only  like  the 
first  rays  of  Marini's  sun  ;  nor  was  Calderon,  nor 
many  greater  men,  free  from  it  either.  However, 
enough  of  poetry,  for  I  am  digressing! 

After  the  siesta  I  hunted  up  my  two  com- 
panions, who  took  me  into  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  in 
which  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  men  and  women  of 
the  true  Andalusian  type,  just  as  I  had  imagined 
them,  with  the  eyes,  coloring,  and  attitudes  of  the 
Arabs.  There  I  heard,  too,  for  the  first  time,  the 
real  Andalusian  style  of  speaking,  which  is  softer 
and  more  musical  than  in  the  Castiles,  and  gayer, 
more  imaginative,  and  accompanied  by  more  viva- 
cious gestures.  I  asked  my  companions  if  that 
which  is  said  of  Andalusia  is  really  true,  viz.,  that  the 
early  physical  development  causes  greater  vice,  more 
voluptuous  habits,  and  unbridled  passions.  "  Too 
true  ! "  they  replied,  as  they  proceeded  to  give  me 
explanations  and  descriptions,  and  tell  me  anecdotes 
which  I  withhold  from  my  readers.  We  returned  to 
the  city,  and  they  took  me  to  a  fine  club-house,  with 
gardens  and  superb  rooms,  in  one  of  which  (the 
largest  and  richest,  ornamented  with  the  portraits  of 
all  the  illustrious  men  of  Cordova)  is  a  sort  of  stage, 
from  which  the  poets  read  their  poems  on  the  even- 
ings set  aside  for  public  trials  of  genius  ;  and  the 


CORDOVA.  293 

victors  receive  a  wreath  of  laurel  from  the  hands  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  cultivated  girls  in  the  city,  who 
are  seated,  in  a  semicircle,  on  chairs  wreathed  with 
roses.  That  evening  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
several  young  Cordovans  who  devote  themselves  to 
the  cultivation  of  the  Muses.  They  were  frank,  court- 
eous, and  very  vivacious,  and  had  a  medley  of  verses 
in  their  heads,  and  a  sprinkling  of  Italian  literature  ; 
so  that,  as  my  readers  may  fancy,  from  twilight  until 
midnight,  in  those  mysterious  little  streets  which  had 
made  my  head  whirl  on  the  first  evening,  there  was 
a  continuous  and  increasing  interchange  of  sonnets, 
national  hymns,  and  ballads  in  the  two  languages 
(from  Petrarch  to  Prati,  and  from  Cervantes  to 
Zorilla),and  a  gay  conversation  ended  and  sealed  by 
many  cordial  handshakings,  and  promises  to  write 
and  send  books  to  each  other,  to  come  to  Italy  and 
return  to  Spain,  etc.,  etc.,  They  were  only  empty 
words,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  agreeable  for 
that. 

On  the  following  day  I  left  for  Seville.  At  the 
station  I  saw  Frascuelo,  Lagartijo,  Cuco,  and  the 
whole  company  of  toreros  from  Madrid,  who  greeted 
me  with  a  benevolent  look  of  protection.  I  dashed 
into  a  dusty  carriage,  and  when  the  train  started  and 
Cordova  appeared  to  my  eyes  for  the  last  time,  I 
took  leave  of  it  with  the  words  of  an  Arabian  poet, 
which  are,  if  you  choose,  a  trifle  too  sensual  for  the 
taste  of  a  European,  but  really  quite  suitable  to  the 
occasion  : 

"  Farewell  Cordova!  I  should  like  to  live  as  long 
as  Noah,  in  order  to  dwell  forever  among  thy  walls. 
I  should  like  to  possess  the  treasures  of  Pharoah,  to 
spend  them  on  wine  and  the  beautiful  Cordovese 
women,  whose  lovely  eyes  seem  to  invite  kisses." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SEVILLE. 


THE  journey  from  Cordova  to  Seville  arouses 
none  of  that  surprise  which  is  awakened  by 
that  from  Toledo  to  Cordova,  but  it  is  more  beauti- 
ful still  ;  for  there  are  always  those  orange  and  end- 
less olive  groves,  the  hills  covered  with  grape-vines, 
and  those  fields  filled  with  flowers.  At  a  short  dis- 
tance from  Cordova  one  sees  the  rocky  towers  of 
the  formidable  Castle  of  Almodovar,  standing  on  a 
very  high  rock,  which  dominates  an  immense  space 
round  about  it.  At  Hornachuelos,  there  is  another 
old  castle  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  in  the  centre  of  a  soli- 
tary and  melancholy  landscape.  Farther  on,  lies 
the  white  city  of  Palma,  hidden  in  a  thick  grove  of 
oranges,  encircled,  in  its  turn,  by  a  wreath  ofkitchen- 
and  flower-gardens.  And  so  we  pass  on  through 
fields  whitened  with  grain,  flanked  by  hedges  of  In- 
dian fig-trees,  rows  of  little  palms,  groves  of  pines, 
and  fine  plantations  of  fruit-trees.  At  every  step 
one  sees  hills,  castles,  torrents,  slender  bell  towers 
belonging  to  the  villages  hidden  among  the  trees, 
and  the  blue  summits  of  distant  mountains. 

The  little  country-houses  scattered  along  the  road 
are  more  beautiful  than  any  thing  else.  I  do  not  re- 
member having  seen  any  of  them  which  were  not  as 
white    as    snow.      The  house,  the   parapet  of    the 

294 


SE  VILLE.  295 

neighboring  well,  the  low  wall  which  encloses  the 
garden,  the  two  pilasters  of  the  garden  gate  are  all 
white,  and  every  thing  looks  as  if  it  had  been  white- 
washed the  day  before.  Some  of  the  houses  have 
one  or  two  little  Moorish  miillion  windows  ;  others, 
some  arabesques  over  the  door;  others,  still,  have 
varigated  roofs  like  the  Arabian  houses.  Here  and 
there,  scattered  through  the  fields,  one  sees  the  red 
and  white  capes  of  the  peasants,  velvet  hats  in  the 
midst  of  the  verdure,  together  with  sashes  of  every 
color.  The  peasants  whom  one  sees  in  the  furrows, 
or  who  have  to  watch  the  train  pass  by,  are  dressed, 
just  as  they  are  represented  in  the  pictures,  in  the 
costumes  of  forty  years  ago.  They  wear  a  velvet 
hat  with  a  very  broad  and  slightly  upturned  brim, 
which  has  a  crown  like  a  sugar  loaf;  a  short  jacket, 
open  waist-coat,  knee-breeches  like  those  of  the 
priests,  a  pair  of  gaiters  that  reach  the  trousers,  and 
a  sash  around  their  waists.  This  style  of  dress, 
which  is  beautiful,  though  inconvenient,  adapts  itself 
admirably  to  the  slender  figures  of  those  men  who 
much  prefer  being  beautifully  uncomfortable,  than  to 
be  comfortable  without  grace,  and  who  willingly 
spend  a  half  hour  on  their  toilette  every  morning,  in 
order  to  get  into  a  pair  of  breeches  which  will  display 
a  fine  shaped  hip  and  leg.  They  have  nothing  in 
common  with  our  hard-faced,  stony-eyed  peasants  of 
the  North.  The  former  look  at  you  with  a  smile  ; 
the  great  black  eyes  cast  audacious  glances  at  the 
ladies  who  put  their  heads  out  of  the  windows,  as  if 
to  say  :  "  Do  you  not  recognize  me  ?"  they  hand 
you  a  match  before  you  have  asked  for  it ;  some- 
times reply  in  rhyme  to  your  question;  and  are  quite 
capable  of  laughing  on  purpose  to  show  you  their 
white  teeth. 


296  SPAIN. 

At  the  Rinconada,  one  begins  to  see,  in  a  line 
with  the  railway,  the  bell  tower  of  the  Seville  Ca- 
thedral ;  and  on  the  right,  beyond  the  Guadalquiver, 
the  beautiful  hillsides  covered  with  olive  groves,  at 
the  foot  of  which  lie  the  ruins  of  Italica.  The  train 
sped  along,  and  I  said  to  myself,  more  and  more 
hurriedly  as  the  houses  became  more  frequent,  with 
that  breathlessness  full  of  desire  and  joy  which  one 
experiences  in  climbing  the  staircase  of  one's  sweet- 
heart : 

"  Seville !  Seville  is  here  !  She  is  here,  the 
queen  of  Andalusia,  the  Spanish  Athens,  the 
mother  of  Murillo,  the  city  of  poets  and  loves,  the 
famous  Seville,  w^iose  name. I  have  uttered  since  my 
childhood  with  a  feeling  of  sweet  sympathy  !  Who 
would  have  said,  a  few  years  ago,  that  I  should 
have  seen  it !  Yet  it  is  not  a  dream !  Those 
houses  are  in  Seville,  those  peasants  over  there  are 
Sevillians,  and  the  bell  tower  which  I  see  is  the 
Giralda!  I  at  Seville?  It  is  strange!  I  feel  like 
laughing !  What  is  my  mother  doing  at  this  mo- 
ment ?  If  she  were  only  here  !  If  such  and  such  an 
one  were  here  too !  It  is  a  pity  that  I  am  alone ! 
Here  are  the  white  houses,  gardens,  streets.  .  . 
We  are  in  the  city.  .  .  Now  we  leave  the  train. 
.  .  Ah  !  how  beautiful  life  is  !  .  ," 
/  I  arrived  at  a  hotel,  tossed  my  valise  into  -a.  patio, 
and  began  roaming  about  the  city.  I  seemed  to 
see  Cordova  enlarged,  beautified,  and  enriched  ;  the 
streets  are  broader,  the  houses  higher,  and  Xho.  patios 
more  spacious  ;  but  the  general  aspect  of  the  city  is 
the  same.  There  is  the  same  spotless  whiteness, 
that  intricate  network  of  small  streets,  the  diffused 
odor  of  oranges,  the  lovely  air  of  mystery,  that 
oriental  appearance   which   awakens  in   the  heart  a 


SEVILLE.  297 

very  sweet  feeling  of  melancholy,  and  in  the  mind  a 
thousand  fancies,  desires,  and  visions  of  a  distant 
world,  a  new  life,  an  unknown  people,  and  a  terres- 
trial paradise  full  of  love,  delight,  and  peace.  In 
those  streets  one  reads  the  history  of  the  city ;  every 
balcony,  fragment  of  sculpture,  and  solitary  cross- 
road recall  the  nocturnal  adventures  of  a  king,  the 
inspirations  of  a  poet,  the  adventures  of  a  beauty, 
an  amour,  a  duel,  an  abduction,  a  fable,  and  a  feast. 
Here  is  a  reminder  of  Maria  de  Pedilla,  there  of 
Don  Pedro,  farther  on  of  Cervantes,  and  elsewhere 
of  Columbus,  Saint  Theresa,  Velasquez,  and 
Murillo.  A  column  recalls  the  Roman  dominion,  a 
tower,  the  splendors  of  Charles  V's  monarchy,  an 
alcazar,  the  magnificence  of  the  court  of  the  Arabs. 
Beside  the  modest  white  houses  rise  sumptuous 
marble  palaces  ;  the  little  tortuous  streets  emerge  on 
immense  squares  filled  with  orange  trees  ;  from  the 
deserted  and  silent  cross-road  one  comes  out,  after  a 
short  turn,  into  a  street  traversed  by  a  noisy  crowd. 
Everywhere  one  passes  he  sees,  through  the  grace- 
ful gratings  of  th^  patios,  flowers,  statues,  fountains, 
suites  of  rooms,  walls  covered  with  arabesques,  Ara- 
bian windows,  and  slender  columns  of  precious 
marble  ;  and  at  every  window,  in  every  garden, there 
are  women  dressed  in  white,  half  hidden,  like  timid 
nymphs,  among  the  grapevines  and  rose  bushes. 

Passing  from  street  to  street  I  reached  at  last, 
on  the  bank  of  the  Guadalquiver,  a  promenade 
called  the  Christina,  which  is  to  Seville  what  the 
Lungarno  is  for  Florence.  Here  one  enjoys  an 
enchanted  spectacle. 

First  I  approached  the  famous  Torre  del  Oro. 
This  noted  tower,  called  the  Golden  one,  received 
jts   name  either  from  the  fact  that  it  held  the  gold 


298  SPAIN. 

which  the  Spanish  ships  brought  from  America,  or 
because  the  King  Don  Pedro  hid  his  treasures  there, 
It  is  octagonal  in  shape,  with  three  receding  floors, 
crowned  with  battlements,  and  washed  by  the  river. 
Tradition  narrates  that  this  tower  was  constructed 
by  the  Romans,  and  that  the  most  beautiful  favorite 
of  the  king  lived  there  for  some  time,  when  the 
tower  was  joined  to  the  Alcazar  by  a  building  that 
was  destroyed  to  make  place  for  the  Christina 
promenade. 

This  promenade  extends  from  the  palace  of  the 
Duke  of  Montpensier  to  the  Torre  del  Oro,  and  is 
entirely  shaded  by  oriental  plane  trees,  oaks,  cypres- 
ses, willows,  poplars,  and  other  northern  trees,  which 
the  Andalusians  admire  as  we  should  admire  the 
palms  and  aloes  in  the  fields  of  Piedmont  and  Lom- 
bardy.  A  great  bridge  crosses  the  river  and  leads 
to  the  suburb  of  Triana,  from  which  one  sees  the 
first  houses  on  the  opposite  bank.  A  long  row  of 
ships,  goletas  (a  species  of  light  boat),  and  barks 
extend  along  the  river  ;  and  between  the  Torre  del 
Oro  and  the  duke's  palace  there  is  a  continual  com- 
ing and  going  of  boats.  The  sun  was  setting.  A 
crowd  of  ladies  swarmed  through  the  avenues,  troops 
of  workmen  passed  the  bridge,  the  work  on  the 
ships  increased,  a  band  hidden  among  the  trees  was 
playing,  the  river  was  rose  color,  the  air  was  filled 
with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  the  sky  seemed  all 
aflame. 

I  reentered  the  city  and  enjoyed  the  sight  of 
Seville  at  night.  T\\q  patios  of  all  the  houses  were 
illuminated  ;  those  of  the  smaller  houses  by  a  half 
light,  which  gave  them  a  mysterious  grace  ;  those  of 
the  palaces  were  filled  with  tiny  flames,  which  made 
the  mirrors  gleam,  the  sprays  of  the  fountain  glisten 


SE  VILLE.  299 

like  drops  of  quicksilver,  and  the  marbles  of  the 
vestibules,  the  mosaics  of  the  walls,  the  glass  in  the 
doors,  and  the  crystals  of  the  tapers,  shine  in  a  thou- 
sand colors.  Within  one  saw  a  crowd  of  ladies, 
heard  on  all  sides  the  sound  of  voices,  laughter,  and 
music.  It  seemed  like  passing  through  so  many 
ball-rooms,  for  from  every  door  there  came  a  flood 
of  light,  fragrance,  and  harmony.  The  streets  were 
crowded  ;  among  the  trees  on  the  squares,  under 
the  vestibules,  at  end  of  the  alleys,  on  the  balconies, 
and  on  every  side  one  could  see  white  skirts  floating, 
disappearing,  and  reappearing  in  the  shade  ;  little 
heads  ornamented  with  flowers  peeping  from  the 
windows;  groups  of  young  men  moving  through  the 
crowd  with  gay  shouts  ;  people  saluting  each  other 
and  talking  from  window  to  street ;  and  on  all  sides 
a  quickened  pace,  a  bustle,  laughter,  and  a  carnival- 
like gaiety.  '  Seville  was  nothing  but  an  immense 
garden,  in  which  a  crowd  filled  with  youth  and  love 
was  revelling.  - 

These  moments  are  sad  ones  for  a  stranger.  I 
remember  that  I  was  ready  to  dash  my  head  against 
a  wall.  I  wandered  here  and  there  half  bewildered, 
my  head  drooping  and  my  heart  saddened,  as  if  all 
those  people  were  amusing  themselves  simply  out 
of  disrespect  for  my  solitude  and  melancholy.  It 
was  too  late  to  deliver  any  letters  of  introduction, 
too  early  to  go  to  sleep.  I  was  the  slave  of  that 
crowd  and  gaiety,  and  I  should  have  to  bear  it  for 
many  hours.  I  experienced  a  sort  of  relief  in  forc- 
ing myself  not  to  look  in  the  faces  of  the  women, 
but  I  did  not  always  succeed,  and  when  my  eyes 
encountered  the  dark  pupils  by  chance,  the  wound 
was  more  bitter  (because  it  was  unexpected)  than  if 
I  had  dared  the  danger  with  a  ready  heart.     I  was 


300  SPAIN. 

in  the  midst  of  those  Sevillian  women  who  are  so 
tremendously  famous !  I  saw  them  pass  on  the 
arms  of  their  husbands  and  lovers,  I  touched  their 
dresses,  inhaled  their  perfume,  heard  the  sound  of 
their  low  sweet  words,  and  the  blood  rushed  through 
my  head  like  a  wave  of  fire.  Fortunately  I  remem- 
bered having  heard  from  a  Sevillian  at  Madrid,  that 
the  Italian  Consul  Avas  in  the  habit  of  spending  the 
evening  at  the  shop  of  one  of  his  sons.  I  hunted  up 
the  establishment,  found  the  Consul  there,  and  pre- 
senting him  with  a  letter  from  a  friend,  said  to  him 
in  a  dramatic  tone  which  made  him  laugh  :  "  Dear 
sir !  please  take  charge  of  me,  for  Seville  frightens 
me !  " 

At  midnight  the  appearance  of  the  city  had  not 
chanofed  ;  there  was  still  the  same  crowd  and  liorht  ; 
I  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  shut  myself  up  in  my 
own  room  with  the  intention  of  going  to  bed. 
Worse  and  worse !  The  windows  of  the  room 
opened  on  a  square  where  a  crowd  of  people  were 
swarming  around  a  band  which  never  stopped  play- 
ing. When  the  music  did  cease  at  last,  the  Qfuitars, 
shouts  of  water- venders,  songs,  and  laughter  began, 
and  all  night  long  there  was  uproar  enough  to  wake 
the  dead.  I  had  a  dream  which  was  both  delicious 
and  tormenting  at  the  same  time,  perhaps  rather  the 
latter,  on  the  whole.  I  seemed  to  be  tied  to  the  bed 
by  a  long  black  braid  twisted  into  a  thousand  knots, 
to  feel  on  my  lips  a  fiery  mouth  which  took  away 
my  breath,  and  around  my  neck  the  vigorous  little 
hands  that  were  crushing  my  head  against  the  handle 
of  a  guitar. 

The  following  morning  I  went  immediately  to  see 
the  cathedral. 

In  order  to   describe   this  enormous   buildinof  fit- 


SEVILLE.  301 

tingly,  one  ought  to  have  ready  a  collection  of  the 
most  extravagant  adjectives  and  the  most  exagger- 
ated similes  which  ever  issued  from  the  pens  of  the 
hyperbolical  writers  of  all  nations,  every  time  they 
were  obliged  to  depict  something  prodigiously  high, 
monstrously  broad,  frightfully  deep,  and  incredibly 
grand.  Whenever  I  talk  of  it  to  my  friends,  in- 
voluntarily I  too,  like  the  Mirabeau  of  Victor  Hugo, 
give  itn  colossal  mouve7neut  d'epa7ilcs,  swell  my  throat, 
and  increase  my  voice,  little  by  little,  in  imitation  of 
Salvini  in  the  tragedy  of  Samson,  when  with  an  ac- 
cent that  makes  the  parquette  tremble,  he  says  he 
feels  his  streno-th  returninor  in  his  nerves.  To  talk 
of  the  Seville  Cathedral  wearies  one  like  playing  a 
great  wind  instrument,  or  keeping  up  a  conversation 
from  one  bank  to  the  other  of  a  noisy  stream. 

The  Cathedral  of  Seville  stands  alone  in  the  mid- 
dle of  an  immense  square,  and  yet  one  can  measure 
its  size  with  a  single  glance.  At  the  first  moment, 
I  thought  of  the  famous  speech  made  by  the  Chapter 
of  the  primitive  church,  in  decreeing  the  construc- 
tion of  the  new  cathedral  on  the  eighth  of  July, 
1 40 1.  "  Let  us  erect  such  a  monument  that  pos- 
terity will  say  we  were  madmen."  Those  reverend 
gentlemen  did  not  fail  in  their  design.  However, 
one  must  enter  in  order  to  convince  one's  self  of  this. 
The  external  appearance  of  the  cathedral  is  grand 
and  magnificent,  but  much  less  so  than  the  interior. 
The  facade  is  lacking  ;  a  high  wall  surrounds  the 
entire  edifice  like  a  fortress.  No  matter  how  much 
one  turns  and  looks  at  it,  one  is  unable  to  impress 
upon  the  mind  a  single  outline  which,  like  the  pref- 
ace of  a  book,  gives  a  clear  conception  of  the  design 
of  the  work  ;  one  admires  it,  and  breaks  out  more 
than  once  with  an  exclamation  :     "  It  is  wonderful !" 


302  SPAIN. 

but  still  it  does  not  satisfy,  and  one  hastily  enters 
the  church,  desirous  of  experiencing  a  more  thorough 
feeling  of  admiration. 

At  your  first  entrance  you  are  bewildered,  feel  as 
if  you  were  wandering  in  an  abyss,  and  for  several 
moments  do  nothing  but  glance  around  you  in  that 
immense  space,  almost  as  if  to  assure  yourself  that 
your  eyes  are  not  deceiving  nor  your  fancy  playing 
you  some  trick.  Then  you  approach  one  of  the  pil- 
lars, measure  it,  and  look  at  the  more  distant  ones 
which,  though  as  large  as  towers,  appear  so  slender 
that  it  makes  you  tremble  to  think  that  the  building 
is  resting  upon  them.  You  traverse  them  with  a 
glance  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  it  seems  as  if  you 
could  almost  count  the  moments  it  would  take  for  the 
eye  to  climb  them.  There  are  five  aisles,  each  one 
of  which  might  form  a  church.  In  the  centre  one, 
another  cathedral  with  its  cupola  and  bell  tower 
could  easily  stand.  All  of  them  together  form  sixty- 
eight  bold  vaulted  ceilings,  which  seem  to  expand 
and  rise  slowly  as  you  look  at  them.  Every  thing  is 
enormous  in  this  cathedral.  The  principal  chapel, 
placed  in  the  centre  of  the  great  nave,  and  almost 
high  enough  to  touch  the  ceiling,  looks  like  a  chapel 
built  for  giant  priests,  to  whose  knees  the  ordinary 
altars  would  not  reach.  The  paschal  candle  seems 
like  the  mast  of  a  ship,  and  the  bronze  candlestick 
which  holds  it  like  the  pillars  of  a  church.  The 
choir  is  a  museum  of  sculpture  and  chiselling  which 
merits  a  day's  visit.  The  chapels  are  worthy  of  the 
church,  for  they  contain  the  masterpieces  of  sixty- 
seven  sculptors  and  thirty-eight  painters.  Mon- 
tanes,  Zurbaran,  Murillo,  Valdes,  Herrera,  Boldan, 
Roelas,  Campana,  have  left  there  a  thousand  traces 
of  their  hand.  The  cha[)el  of  Saint  Ferdinand,  which 


S£  VILLE.  303 

contains  the  sepulchres  of  this  king  and  his  wife 
Beatrice,  of  Alphonso  the  Wise,  the  celebrated  min- 
ister Florida  Blanca,  and  other  illustrious  person- 
ages, is  one  of  the  richest  and  most  beautiful  of  all. 
The  body  of  Ferdinand,  who  redeemed  Seville  from 
the  dominion  of  the  Arabs,  clothed  in  his  uniform,  with 
crown  and  mantle,  rests  in  a  crystal  casket,  covered 
with  a  veil.  On  one  side  is  the  sword  which  he 
carried  on  the  day  of  his  entrance  into  Seville ;  on 
the  other,  a  staff  of  cane,  an  emblem  of  command. 
In  that  same  chapel  is  preserved  a  little  ivory  virgin, 
which  the  holy  king  carried  to  war  with  him,  and  other 
relics  of  great  value.  In  the  remaining  chapels  are 
other  large  marble  altars,  tombs  in  the  Gothic  style, 
statues  in  stone,  wood,  and  silver,  inclosed  in  broad 
crystal  caskets,  with  breasts  and  hands  covered  with 
diamonds  and  rubies  ;  and  immense  pictures,  which, 
unfortunately,  the  faint  light  that  falls  from  the  high 
windows  does  not  sufficiently  illuminate  to  enable 
the  visitor  to  admire  all  their  beauties. 

One  always  returns,  however,  from  the  inspection 
of  the  chapel  pictures  and  sculpture  to  admire  afresh 
the  cathedral  in  its  grand,  and,  if  I  may  use  the 
expression,  formidable  aspect.  After  having  dashed 
up  to  those  dizzy  heights,  the  eye  and  mind  fall 
back  to  earth,  almost  wearied  by  the  effort,  as  if  to 
take  breath  before  climbinof  ao^ain.  The  imao^es 
which  fill  your  head,  correspond  with  the  vastness 
of  the  Basilica  ;  they  are  immense  angels,  heads  of 
monstrous  cherubims,  wings  large  as  the  sails  of 
ships,  and  the  waving  of  huge  white  mantles.  It  is 
a  perfectly  religious  impression,  not  a  sad  one,  which 
this  cathedral  produces  upon  you  ;  it  is  the  feeling 
that  transports  the  thoughts  into  the  interminable 
space  and  trem.endous  silence  in  which  Leopardi's 


304  SPAIN. 

thoughts  were  drowned.  It  is  a  feeling  full  of  desire 
and  daring  ;  the  involuntary  shudder  which  comes 
over  one  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  ;  the  disturbance 
and  confusion  of  great  ideas  ;  the  divine  terror  of 
the  infinite. 

As  it  is  the  most  varied  cathedral  in  Spain  (be- 
cause Gothic,  Germanic,  Graeco-Roman,  Arabian, 
and  what  is  vulgarly  termed //^z/t^r^i-^?^^  architecture, 
have  each  left  their  imprint  upon  it),  so  is  it  also  the 
richest  and  most  privileged.  In  the  time  of  the 
greater  power  of  the  clergy,  twenty  thousand  pounds 
of  wax  were  burned  there  every  year  ;  five  hundred 
masses  were  celebrated  every  day,  upon  eighty  al- 
tars ;  and  the  wine  consumed  in  the  sacrifice 
amounted  to  the  incredible  quantity  of  eighteen 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty  litres.  The  canons 
had  a  royal  suite  of  servants,  went  to  church  in 
splendid  carriages  drawn  by  superb  horses,  and,  while 
they  celebrated  mass,  made  the  young  priests  fan 
them  with  enormous  fans  ornamented  with  feath- 
ers and  pearls  ;  a  privilege  granted  them  by  the 
pope,  of  which  some  of  them  take  advantage  even 
to-day.  It  is  not  necessary  to  speak  of  the  fetes  of 
holy  week,  which  are  still  famous  all  over  the  world, 
and  to  which  people  flock  from  every  part  of  Europe. 

The  most  curious  privilege,  however,  of  the  Se- 
ville Cathedral,  is  the  so-called  dance  of  los 
seises,  which  takes  place  every  evening  at  twilight, 
for  eight  consecutive  days,  after  the  festival  of 
Corpus  Domi7ii.  As  I  was  at  Seville  during  those 
days  I  went  to  see  it,  and  I  think  it  is  worth  de- 
scribing. From  what  I  had  heard,  I  thought  it 
must  be  a  scandalous  buffoonery,  and  I  entered  the 
church  with  my  mind  prepared  for  a  feeling  of  in- 
dignation  at  the   profanation  of   this  sacred   place. 


SE  VILLE.  305 

The  church  was  dark  ;  only  the  principal  chapel  was 
illuminated  ;  a  crowd  of  kneeling  women  occupied 
the  space  between  the  chapel  and  the  choir.  Sev- 
eral priests  were  seated  on  the  right  and  left  of  the 
altar  ;  before  the  steps  was  stretched  a  broad  carpet  ; 
and  two  rows  of  boys,  from  eight  to  ten  years  old, 
dressed  like  Spanish  cavaliers  of  the  mediaeval  age, 
with  plumed  hats  and  white  stockings,  were  drawn 
up  opposite  each  other  in  front  of  the  altar.  At  a 
signal  given  by  a  priest,  a  low  music  from  violins 
broke  the  profound  silence  of  the  church,  and  the 
boys  moved  forward  with  the  steps  of  a  contra- 
dance,  and  began  to  divide,  interlace,  separate,  and 
gather  again  with  a  thousand  graceful  turns  ;  then 
all  broke  out  together  into  a  lovely  and  harmonious 
chant,  which  echoed  through  the  darkness  of  the  vast 
cathedral  like  the  voice  of  a  choir  of  angels,  and  a 
moment  later  they  commenced  to  accompany  the 
dance  and  chant  with  castanets.  No  religious  cere- 
mony ever  moved  me  like  this  one.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  describe  the  effect  produced  by  those  small 
voices  under  that  immense  vault,  the  little  crea- 
tures at  the  foot  of  the  enormous  altar,  that  grave  and 
almost  humble  dance,  the  ancient  costumes,  prostrate 
crowd,  and,  all  around,  the  darkness.  I  left  the  church 
with  my  soul  as  peaceful  as  if  I  had  been  praying. 

A  curious  anecdote  was  told  me  apropos  of  this 
dance.  Two  centuries  ago,  an  archbishop  of  Seville, 
who  thought  the  contra-dances  and  castanets  did 
not  worthily  praise  the  Lord,  wished  to  prohibit  the 
ceremony.  A  great  tumult  followed  in  conse- 
quence, the  people  rebelled,  the  canons  raised  their 
voices,  and  the  archbishop  was  obliged  to  call  the 
pope  to  his  assistance.  The  pope,  who  was  curi- 
ous, desired  to  see  the  dance  with  his  own    eyes  in 


306  SPAIN. 

order  to  give  his  judgment  in  the  matter.  The 
boys,  dressed  hke  cavahers,  were  taken  to  Rome,  re- 
ceived at  the  Vatican,  and  made  to  dance  and  sine 
before  his  hoHness.  The  pope  laughed,  did  not 
disapprove  of  it,  and  wishing  to  satisfy  the  canons 
without  displeasing  the  archbishop,  decreed  that  the 
boys  should  dance  until  the  clothes  they  had  on 
were  worn  out ;  after  which  the  ceremony  might 
be  considered  as  abolished.  The  archbishop  smiled, 
and  the  canons  laughed  in  their  sleeves  like  people 
who  had  already  discovered  a  way  of  outwitting 
both  bishop  and  pope.  In  fact,  they  renewed  one 
part  of  the  boys'  dress  every  year,  so  that  it  could 
never  be  said  that  the  costume  was  worn  out  ;  and 
the  archbishop  who,  as  a  scrupulous  man,  took  the 
^o^&'s  order  au  pied  de  la  lettre,  could  never  make 
any  opposition  to  the  ceremony.  So  they  continued 
to  dance,  do  dance,  and  will  dance  as  long  as  it 
pleases  the  canons  and  the  good  Lord. 

Just  as  I  was  leaving  the  church,  a  sacristan 
made  me  a  sign,  led  me  behind  the  choir,  and 
pointed  out  a  stone  in  the  pavement,  upon  which  I 
read  an  inscription  that  set  my  heart  beating.  Un- 
der the  stone  are  buried  the  bones  of  Ferdinand 
Columbus,  son  of  Christopher,  born  at  Cordova, 
died  at  Seville  the  12th  July,  1536,  at  the  age  of  5o 
years.  Under  the  inscription  are  several  Latin  dis- 
tiches which  have  the  following  signification  : 

"  What  does  it  avail  that  I  should  have  bathed  the 
entire  universe  with  my  sweat,  that  I  should  have 
traversed  three  times  the  New  World  discovered  by 
my  father,  that  I  should  have  embellished  the  banks  of 
the  tranquil  Heti,  and  preferred  my  simple  tastes  to 
riches  in  order  to  gather  around  thee  the  divinities 
of  the   Castalian  spring,  and   offer  thee  the  treas- 


S£  VILLE.  307 

ures  already  gathered  by  Ptolemy,  if  thou,  in  pass- 
ing silently  over  this  stone,  dost  not  give  at  least 
a  greeting  to  my  father  and  a  slight  thought  to 
me  ?  " 

The  sacristan  who  knew  more  about  the  matter 
than  I  did,  explained  the  inscription  to  me.  Fer- 
dinand Columbus  was,  when  very  young,  a  page 
of  Isabella  the  Catholic  and  the  Prince  Don  John  ; 
he  travelled  in  the  Indies  with  his  father  and 
brother,  the  Admiral  Don  Diego  ;  followed  the  Em- 
peror Charles  V  in  his  wars  ;  took  other  journeys  in 
Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  and  everywhere  gath- 
ered with  great  care  and  expense  most  valuable 
books,  with  which  he  started  a  library,  that  after  his 
death  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Chapter  of  the 
cathedral,  and  remains  there  still  under  the  famous 
title  of  the  Columbian  Library.  Before  dying,  he 
himself  wrote  the  Latin  distiches  which  one  reads 
on  the  stone  of  his  tomb,  and  manifested  a  desire 
to  be  buried  in  the  cathedral.  During  the  last 
moments  of  his  life,  he  had  a  platter  full  of  ashes 
brought  to  him,  and  covered  his  face  with  them, 
saying  in  the  words  of  the  Holy  Scripture  :  Me- 
mento  homo  quia  piilvis  es,  intoned  the  Te  Deum, 
smiled,  and  expired  with  the  serenity  of  a  saint.  In- 
stantly I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  visit  the  library, 
and  I  left  the  church. 

A  guide  stopped  me  at  the  door  to  ask  if  I  had 
seen  the  Patio  de  los  Naraiijos  (the  Court  of  the 
Oranges),  and  having  replied  in  the  negative,  he 
took  me  there.  The  Court  of  the  Oranges  is  situ- 
ated  at  the  west  of  the  cathedral,  and  surrounded 
by  a  great  embattled  wall.  In  the  centre  rises  a 
fountain,  encircled  by  a  grove  of  orange  trees,  and 
on  one  side,  near  the  wall,  Vincent  Ferrer  is  said  to 


308  SPAIN. 

have  preached.  In  the  space  covered  by  this  court, 
which  is  very  large,  rose  the  ancient  mosque  that  is 
beheved  to  have  been  erected  toward  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century.  No  trace  of  it  remains,  however. 
Under  the  shade  of  the  orange  trees,  on  the  edge 
of  the  fountain,  the  good  Sevillians  go  to  enjoy  the 
fresh  air  en  las  ardientes  siestas  del  esfio  ;  and  noth- 
ing remains  which  recalls  the  voluptuous  paradise 
of  Mahammed  but  the  lovely  verdure  and  the  em- 
balsamed  air,  with  now  and  then  some  beautiful  girl 
whose  great  black  eyes  dart  glances  at  you  as  she 
flies  through  the  distant  trees. 

The  famous  Giralda  of  the  Seville  Cathedral,  is 
an  old  Arabian  tower,  built,  so  it  is  affirmed,  in  the 
year  one  thousand,  after  the  design  of  the  architect 
Gaver,  inventor  of  algebra  ;  modified  in  its  upper 
portions  after  the  conquest,  and  then  changed  into 
a  Christian  bell  tower  ;  but  it  is  always  Arabian  in 
appearance,  and  decidedly  prouder  of  the  fallen 
standards  of  the  vanquished  than  of  the  cross  which 
the  victors  have  recently  placed  upon  it.  It  is  a 
monument  which  produces  a  novel  sensation  ;  it 
makes  one  laugh  ;  for  it  is  as  immense  and  impos- 
ing as  an  Egyptian  pyramid,  and  at  the  same  time 
as  gay  and  lovely  as  the  kiosk  of  a  garden.  It  is 
a  square  brick  tower,  of  a  very  beautiful  rose  color, 
quite  bare  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  from  here  up 
ornamented  with  little  Moorish  mullion  windows, 
scattered  here  and  there  at  random,  and  furnished 
with  small  balconies  that  produce  a  pretty  effect. 
On  the  floor,  upon  which  the  variegated  roof  for- 
merly rested,  surmounted  by  an  iron  beam  that  sup- 
ported four  enormous  gilt  balls,  rises  the  Christian 
bell  tower,  three  floors  in  height ;  the  first  occupied 
by  the  bell,  the  second  encircled  by  a  balustrade, 


THE    GIRALDA,  SEVILLE. 


si:  ville.  309 

and  the  third  formed  by  a  species  of  cupola,  upon 
which  turns,  like  a  weather  vane,  a  colossal  statue 
of  gilt  bronze,  representing  Faith,  with  a  palm  in 
one  hand  and  a  standard  in  another,  visible  at  a 
great  distance  from  Seville,  and  when  the  sun  strikes 
it,  gleaming  like  an  enormous  ruby,  set  in  the  crown 
of  a  Titan  king,  which  is  dominating  with  its  eye 
the  whole  Andalusian  valley. 

I  climbed  the  top,  and  there  was  amply  repaid  for 
the  fatigue  of  the  ascent.  Seville,  as  white  as  a 
city  of  marble,  encircled  by  a  wreath  of  gardens, 
groves,  and  avenues,  in  the  midst  of  a  country  scat- 
tered with  villas,  extends  before  the  eyes  in  all  its 
oriental  beauty.  The  Guadalquiver  laden  with 
ships  traverses  and  embraces  it  in  one  broad  turn. 
Here  the  Torre  del  Oro  mirrors  its  graceful  form  in 
the  blue  waters  of  the  river,  there  the  Alcazar  raises  its 
austere  towers,  farther  away  the  Montpensier  gardens 
thrust  above  the  roofs  of  the  buildings  an  immense 
mass  of  verdure.  The  glance  penetrates  the  bull- 
circus,  into  the  gardens  of  the  squares,  th.Q  patios  of 
the  houses,  the  cloisters  of  the  churches,  and  into  all 
the  streets  which  converge  around  the  cathedral. 
In  the  distance  one  discovers  the  villages  of  Santi- 
ponce,  Algaba,  and  others  which  gleam  on  the  hill- 
sides ;  on  the  right  of  the  Guadalquiver  is  the  great 
suburb  of  Triana  :  on  one  side,  far,  far  away,  are  the 
indented  crests  of  the  Sierra  Morena  ;  on  the  oppo- 
site side  are  other  mountains  varied  by  an  infinite 
number  of  blue  tints  ;  and  above  this  marvellous 
panorama  lies  the  purest,  most  transparent  and  en- 
chanting sky  that  ever  smiled  on   the   eye  of  man. 

When  I  came  down  from  the  Giralda,  I  went  to 
see  the  library,  near  the  Patio  de  los  Naranjos. 
After  looking  at  a  collection   of  missals,  Bibles,  and 


3IO  SPAIN. 

precious  manuscripts,  one  among  which  is  attributed 
to  Alfonso  the  Wise,  entitled  The  Book  of  the  Treas- 
ure, written  with  the  greatest  care  in  the  old  Span- 
ish language,  I  saw — let  me  repeat  it — I  saw  with 
my  own  moist  eyes,  and,  pressing  my  hand  on  my 
heart  which  was  beating  quickly,  I  saw  a  book,  a 
treatise  on  cosmography  and  astronomy,  in  Latin, 
with  its  margin  covered  by  notes,  in  Christopher 
Columbus'  hand.  He  had  studied  that  book  when 
he  meditated  upon  the  great  design,  had  kept  night 
watches  over  its  pages,  his  divine  forehead  had 
perhaps  touched  them  in  those  fatiguing  nights 
when  he  had  bent  over  that  parchment  in  weary 
abandonment,  and  had  bathed  them  with  his  sweat! 
It  is  a  thought  which  makes  one  tremble !  But 
there  is  something  else  too  !  I  saw  a  writing  in  the 
hand  of  Columbus,  in  which  are  all  the  prophecies  of 
the  old  sacred  and  profane  writers  about  the  discov- 
ery of  the  New  World  ;  a  manuscript  that  he  used, 
as  it  appears,  to  induce  the  sovereigns  of  Spain  to 
furnish  him  with  the  means  for  his  undertaking. 
There  is,  among  other  things,  a  passage  from  the 
Aledea  of  Seneca,  which  says  :  Venient  annis  scsaila 
serisy  quibtis  ocean^is  vincida  reritm  laxet,  et  ingens 
pateat  tellus.  In  the  volume  of  Seneca,  which  is 
also  in  the  Columbian  Library,  near  the  passage 
quoted,  is  an  annotation  by  the  son  Ferdinand, 
that  says  :  "  This  prophecy  was  verified  by  my 
father,  the  Admiral  Christopher  Columbus,  in  the 
year  1492." 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  I  should  like  to  have 
been  alone  to  kiss  those  books,  to  weary  myself  by 
turning  them  over,  and  to  have  loosened  a  fragment 
to  carry  awa)'  with  me  as  something  sacred.  Chris- 
topher Columbus!     I  have  seen  his  writing!     Have 


SEVILLE.  311 

touched  the  leaves  which  he  has  touched !     Have 
felt  him  so  near  to  me  !     On   coming  out  of  the  li- 
brary,   I   do  not  know  why     ...     I   could  have 
thrown  myself  into  the  flames  to  save  a  child,  could 
have  taken  off  my  clothes  to  help  a  poor  person,  or 
would  gladly  have  made  any  sacrifice,  so  rich  was  I. 
After  the  library,  the  Alcazar  ;  but  before  reach- 
ing the  Alcazar,  although   it  stands  on  the  square 
with  the  cathedral,  I  realized  for  the  first  time  what  the 
sun  of  Andalusia  really  was.   Seville  is  the  hottest  city 
in  Spain  during  the  warm  hours  of  the  day,  and  I  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  warmest  part  of  the  town.    There 
was  an  ocean  of  light  there  ;  not  a  window  or  door 
was  open,  nor  a  living  soul  to  be  seen  ;  if  I  had  been 
told  that  Seville  was  uninhabited,  I  should  have  be- 
lieved it.     I  crossed  the  square  slowly,  with  my  eyes 
half  closed,  my  face  wrinkled  up,   the  perspiration 
running  in  great  drops  down  my  cheeks  and  breast, 
and  with   my  hands   so  wet  that  they  seemed    to 
have  been  dipped  in  a  bowl  of  water.     Near  the  Al- 
cazar,  I    found  a  species  of  booth  belonging  to  a 
water- vender,  and  I  dashed  under  it  with  the  precip- 
itation of  a  man  who  is  seeking  shelter  from  a  shower 
of  stones.      When    I    had    recovered  my  breath    I 
moved  on  toward  the  Alcazar. 
,      The   Alcazar,  an  ancient  palace  of  the  Moorish 
kings,  is  one  of  the   best  preserved  monuments  in 
Spain.     Seen  from  the  exterior  it  looks  like  a  fort- 
ress, for    it  is   entirely  surrounded    by   high   walls, 
embattled  towers,  and  old  houses,  which   form  two 
spacious  courts  in  front  of  the  fagade.     The  facade 
is  bare  and  sev-ere  like  the  other  exterior  portions  of 
the  edifice.      The  door  is  ornamented   with  gilded 
and  painted  arabesques,  among  which  one   sees  a 
Gothic  inscription  that  refers  to  the  time  when  the 


312  SPAIN. 

Alcazar  was  restored  by  order  of  the  king  Don  Pe- 
dro. The  Alcazar,  in  fact,  althoug-h  an  Arabian  pal- 
ace, is  rather  the  work  of  Christian  than  of  Arabian 
kings.  Begun,  it  is  not  known  in  precisely  what 
year,  it  was  rebuilt  by  King  Abdelasio  toward  the 
end  of  the  twelfth  century  ;  taken  possession  of  by 
King  Ferdinand  toward  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century  ;  altered  a  second  time  in  the  following  cen- 
tury, by  Don  Pedro  ;  inhabited  for  more  or  less 
time  by  nearly  all  the  kings  of  Castile  ;  and,  finally, 
chosen  by  Charles  V  in  which  to  celebrate  his  mar- 
riaofe  with  the  Infanta  of  Portuq;al.  The  Alcazar  was 
the  witness  of  the  amours  and  crimes  of  three  races 
of  kines,  and  each  of  its  stones  awakens  some  mem- 
ory  or  guards  some  secret. 

One  enters,  crosses  two  or  three  rooms,  in  which 
nothing  Arabian  remains  but  the  ceiling  and  some 
mosaics  at  the  foot  of  the  walls,  and  comes  out  on  a 
court  where  one  is  struck  dumb  with  amazement.  A 
portico  with  elegant  arches  extends  on  four  sides, 
supported  by  small  marble  columns,  joined  two  by 
two;  and  the  arches,  walls,  windows,  and  doors  are 
covered  with  sculpture,  mosaics,  and  intricate  and 
delicate  arabesques,  sometimes  perforated  like  a  veil, 
in  places  as  thick  and  close  as  woven  carpets,  in 
others  projecting  and  hanging  like  bunches  and  gar- 
lands of  flowers.  Aside  from  the  many-colored 
mosaics  every  thing  is  as  white,  clean,  and  gleaming 
as  ivory.  On  the  four  sides  are  four  great  doors  by 
which  one  enters  the  royal  rooms.  Here  marvel  is 
changed  into  enchantment.  Every  thing  that  is  rich- 
est, most  varied,  and  splendid,  which  the  most  ar- 
dent fancy  could  imagine,  is  to  be  found  in  these 
rooms.  From  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  around  the 
doors,  along  the  corners  of  the  windows,  in  the  most 


S£  VILLE.  3  I  3 

distant  recess,  wherever  the  eye  may  chance  to  fall, 
appear  such  a  mukitude  of  gold  ornaments  and  pre- 
cious stones,  such  a  close  network  of  arabesques  and 
inscriptions,  such  a  marvellous  confusion  of  designs 
and  colors,  that  before  one  has  taken  twenty  steps, 
he  is  stunned  and  confused,  and  the  eye  wanders 
here  and  there,  almost  as  if  searching  for  a  bit  of 
bare  wall  on  which  to  take  refuo^e  and  rest.  In  one 
of  these  rooms  the  custodian  pointed  out  a  reddish 
spot,  covering  a  good  part  of  the  marble  pavement, 
and  said  with  a  solemn  voice  : 

"  This  is  the  trace  of  the  blood  of  Don  Fadrique, 
Grand  Master  of  the  Order  of  Santiago,  killed  in  the 
same  place  in  the  year  i358,  by  order  of  the  king 
Don  Pedro,  his  brother." 

I  remember  when  I  heard  these  words  I  looked 
the  custodian  in  the  face  with  the  air  of  saying  : 

"  Let  us  move  on,"  and  that  the  good  man  replied 
in  a  dry  tone  : 

"  Caballero,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  to  believe  the 
thing  on  my  word,  you  would  be  perfectly  right  to 
doubt  it ;  but  when  you  can  see  the  thing  with  your 
own  eyes,  I  may  be  mistaken,  but —  it  seems  to  me 

"  Yes,"  I  hastened  to  say,  "  yes,  it  is  blood,  I  be- 
lieve it,  I  see  it,  don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it." 

If  one  can  joke  over  a  spot  of  blood,  one  cannot 
do  so,  however,  about  the  tradition  of  that  crime  ; 
the  appearance  of  the  place  awoke  in  my  mind  all 
the  most  horrible  particulars.  One  seems  to  hear 
Don  Fadrique's  step  resound  through  those  gilded 
rooms,  as  he  is  being  pursued  by  the  archers  armed 
with  clubs  ;  the  palace  is  immersed  in  gloom  ;  no 
other  noise  is  heard  save  that  of  the  executioners 
and  their  victim.     Don  Fadrique  tries   to  enter  the 


314  SPAIN. 

court.  Lopez  de  Padilla  seizes  him,  he  breaks  away, 
is  in  the  court,  grasps  his  sword,  maledictions  on  it ! 
the  cross  of  the  hilt  is  entangled  in  the  mantle  ot  the 
Order  of  Santiago,  the  archers  arrive,  he  has  no  time 
to  draw  it  from  its  sheath,  so  flies  here  and  there  as 
best  he  can,-  Fernandez  de  Roa  overtakes  and  fells 
him  with  a  blow  from  his  mace,  the  others  fall  upon 
and  wound  him,  and  he  expires  in  a  pool  of  blood. 

This  sad  recollection  is  lost,  however,  amid  the 
thousand  pictures  of  the  delicious  life  of  the  Arabian 
kings.  Those  lovely  little  windows,  at  which  it  seems 
as  if  the  languid  face  of  an  Odalisk  ought  to  appear 
at  every  moment ;  those  secret  doors,  before  which 
you  stop,  despite  yourself,  as  if  you  heard  the  rust- 
ling of  a  dress  ;  those  sleeping-rooms  of  the 
sultans,  immersed  in  a  mysterious  gloom,  where 
fancy  hears  the  sighing  of  the  girls  who  lost  their 
virginal  purity  there ;  the  prodigious  variety  of 
colors  and  friezes,  resembling  a  rapid  and  ever- 
changing  symphony,  exalt  your  senses  to  such  a 
point  that  you  are  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  that  delicate 
and  very  light  architecture,  and  little  columns  (which 
look  like  women's  arms),  the  capricious  arches,  small 
rooms,  ceilinofs,  covered  with  ornaments  that  hangf  in 
the  form  of  stalactites,  icicles,  and  bunches  of  grapes 
— all  rouse  in  you  the  desire  to  seat  yourself  in  the 
middle  of  one  of  these  rooms,  pressing  to  your  heart  a 
beautiful  dark  Andalusian  head,  which  will  make  you 
forget  the  world  and  time,  and  with  one  long  kiss, 
that  drinks  away  your  life,  put  you  to  sleep  forever. 

On  the  ground-floor,  the  most  beautiful  room  is 
that  of  the  ambassadors,  formed  by  four  great  arches 
which  support  a  gallery  of  forty-four  minor  ones, 
and  above,  a  lovely  cupola  that  is  sculptured,  painted, 
and  embroidered  with  ari  illimitable  grace  and  fabu- 


SE  VILLE.  3  I  5 

lous  mag^nificence.  On  the  first  floor,  where  the 
winter  apartments  were,  nothing  remains  but  an  ora- 
tory of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  the  Catholic,  and  a 
small  room,  which  is  said  to  be  the  one  where  the 
king  Don  Pedro  slept.  From  here  you  descend  by 
a  narrow,  mysterious  staircase,  into  the  rooms  inhab- 
ited by  the  famous  Maria  di  Padilla,  a  favorite  of 
Don  Pedro,  whom  popular  tradition  accuses  of  hav- 
inof  insticjated  the  kin  or  to  fratricide. 

The  gardens  of  the  Alcazar  are  not  very  large, 
nor  extraordinarily  beautiful  ;  but  the  memories 
which  they  rouse  are  worth  more  than  mere  size  or 
beauty.  Under  the  shade  of  those  oranges  and  cy- 
presses, near  the  murmur  of  those  fountains,  when 
a  great  pure  moon  shone  in  that  clear  Andalusian 
sky,  and  the  crowd  of  courtiers  and  slaves  lay  down 
to  rest,  how  many  long  sighs  of  enamored  sultanas 
were  heard !  how  many  humble  words  of  proud 
kings!  what  stupendous  loves  and  embraces  !  "  Iti- 
mad!  my  love!"  I  murmured,  thinking  of  the  famous 
favorite  of  King  Al-Motamid,  and  meanwhile  I 
roamed  from  path  to  path,  as  if  following  her  spirit ; — 
"  Itimad !  Do  not  leave  me  alone  in  this  silent 
paradise !  Stop !  Give  me  one  hour  of  bliss  this 
night !  Dost  thou  remember  ?  Thou  camest  to 
me,  and  thy  lovely  locks  fell  over  my  shoulders  like 
a  mantle  ;  and  as  the  warrior  seizes  his  sword,  so  I 
seized  thy  neck,  which  was  whiter  and  softer  than  a 
swan's  !  How  beautiful  thou  wast !  How  my  anx- 
ious heart  sated  its  thirst  on  thy  blood-colored  lips ! 
Thy  beautiful  body  issued  from  thy  splendidly  em- 
broidered robe,  as  a  gleaming  blade  leaves  the 
sheath  ;  and  then  I  pressed  with  both  hands  thy 
great  hips  and  slender  waist  in  all  the  perfection  of 
their  beauty!     How   dear  thou  art,  Itimad!      Thy 


3l6  SPAIN. 

kiss  is  as  sweet  as  wine,  and   thy  glance,  like  wine, 
makes  me  lose  ni)'  reason  !  " 

While  I  was  uttering  my  declaration  of  love  in 
phrases  and  images  taken  from  the  Arabian  poets, 
and  just  at  the  moment  when  I  was  entering  a  path- 
way lined  with  flowers,  I  felt  a  jet  of  water  between 
my  legs  ;  I  jumped  back,  received  a  dash  in  my  face  ; 
turned  to  the  right,  a  spray  on  my  neck  ;  to  the  left, 
another  on  the  nape  of  my  neck  ;  then  I  began  run- 
ning, and  there  was  water  under  me,  over  me,  and 
on  both  sides  of  me,  in  jets,  sprays,  and  showers,  so 
that  in  an  instant  I  was  as  wet  as  if  I  had  been 
dipped  in  a  tub.  Just  at  the  point  when  I  was  about 
to  open  my  mouth  and  shout,  I  heard  a  loud  laugh 
at  the  end  of  the  garden  ;  turned,  and  saw  a  young 
man  leaning  against  a  w^all,  who  was  looking  at  me, 
as  much  as  to  say:  "Did  you  like  it?"  When 
I  left,  he  showed  me  the  spring  he  had  touched  in 
order  to  play  that  trick,  and  comforted  me  with  the 
assurance  that  the  Seville  sun  would  not  leave  me 
long  in  that  wet  state,  into  which  I  had  passed 
so  brusquely,  ah  me  !  from  the  amorous  arms  of  my 
sultana. 

That  evening,  despite  the  voluptuous  images 
Avhich  the  Alcazar  had  roused  in  my  mind,  I  was 
calm  enough  to  be  able  to  contemplate  the  beauty 
of  the  Sevillian  women  without  being  obliged  to 
take  refuge  in  the  arms  of  the  consul.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  there  exist  in  any  country  women  who  are 
so  thoroughly  fitted  to  suggest  the  idea  of  abduction 
as  the  Andalusians,  not  only  because  they  arouse 
the  desire  to  commit  all  sorts  of  deviltries,  but  be- 
cause they  realh'  seem  created  on  purpose  to  be 
seized,  bundled  up,  and  hidden  away,  so  small,  light, 
plump,   elastic,  and  soft  are   tlicy.     Their  little  feet 


SE  VILLE.  3 1 7 

could  easily  be  got  into  your  coat-pocket,  with  one 
hand  you  could  lift  them  by  the  waist  as  you  would 
a  doll,  and  by  pressing  them  lightly  with  your  fin- 
ger, you  could  bend  them  as  you  would  a  reed.  To 
their  natural  beauty  is  added  the  art  of  walking  and 
looking  at  you  in  a  way  to  turn  your  head.  They 
slide,  glide,  and  float  along,  and  in  a  single  moment, 
while  passing  you,  they  show  you  their  foot,  make 
you  admire  their  arm  or  waist,  display  two  rows  of 
white  teeth,  shoot  a  long  veiled  glance  at  you  which 
is  transfixed  and  dies  in  yours,  and  then  go  on  their 
way,  confident  of  having  raised  a  tumult  in  your 
breast. 

In  order  to  form  an  idea  of  the  beauty  of  the  wo- 
men of  the  people,  and  of  their  dress,  I  went,  on  the 
following  day,  to  the  tobacco  manufactory,  which  is 
one  of  the  largest  in  Europe,  and  employs  not  less 
than  five  thousand  operatives.  The  building  is  op- 
posite the  large  gardens  of  the  Duke  de  Montpen- 
sier  ;  the  women  are  almost  all  in  three  immense 
rooms,  divided  into  three  parts,  by  three  rows  of  pil- 
asters. The  first  effect  is  stupendous.  Eight  hun- 
dred girls  present  themselves  at  once  to  your  view. 
They  are  divided  into  groups  of  five  or  six,  and  are 
seated  around  work-tables,  crowded  together,  those 
in  the  distance  indistinct,  and  the  last  scarcely  visi- 
ble. They  are  all  young,  but  few  are  children  :  in 
all,  eight  hundred  dark  heads  of  hair,  and  eight  hun- 
dred dusky  faces  from  every  province  of  Andalusia, 
from  Jaen  to  Cadiz,  and  from  Granada  to  Seville. 
You  hear  the  buzzing  that  you  would  in  a  square 
full  of  people.  The  walls,  from  one  end  of  the 
three  rooms  to  the  other,  are  covered  with  skirts, 
shawls,  handkerchiefs,  and  scarfs,  and,  curiously 
enough,  that  whole   mass   of  rags,  which   would  be 


3l8  SPAIN. 

sufficient  to  fill  a  hundred  second-hand  shops,  pre- 
sents two  predominating  colors,  both  continuous, 
one  above  the  other,  like  the  stripe  of  a  flag.  The 
black  of  the  shawls  is  above,  the  red  of  the  dresses 
below,  and  mixed  with  the  latter,  are  white,  purple, 
and  yellow,  so  that  you  seem  to  see  an  immense 
fancy  costume  shop,  or  a  large  dancing-room,  in 
which  the  ballet  girls,  in  order  to  obtain  more  free- 
dom of  movement,  have  hung  every  thing  on  the 
wall  which  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  cover  them 
decently.  The  girls  put  on  these  dresses  when  they 
leave,  but  wear  old  things  while  at  work,  which, 
however,  are  white  and  red  like  the  others.  The 
heat  being  insupportable,  they  lighten  their  clothing 
as  much  as  possible,  so  that  among  those  five  thou- 
sand there  may  be  hardly  fifty  whose  arms  or  shoulders 
the  visitor  will  not  have  the  opportunity  of  admiring 
at  his  leisure,  without  counting  the  exceptional  cases 
which  present  themselves  quite  unexpectedly  in  pas- 
sing from  one  room  to  the  other,  behind  the  doors, 
columns,  or  in  distant  corners.  There  are  some 
very  beautiful  faces,  and  even  those  that  are  not  ab- 
solutely beautiful,  have  something  about  them  which 
attracts  the  eye  and  remains  impressed  upon  the 
memory — the  coloring,  eyes,  brows,  and  smile,  for 
instance.  Many,  and  especially  the  so-c^Wo-d  gitajie, 
are  dark  brown,  like  mulattoes,  and  have  protruding 
lips  ;  others  have  such  large  eyes  that  a  faithful  like- 
ness of  them  would  seem  an  exaggeration.  The 
majority  are  small,  well  made,  and  all  wear  a  rose, 
pink,  or  a  bunch  of  field  flowers  among  their  braids. 
They  are  paid  in  accordance  with  the  amount  of 
work  they  do  ;  the  most  skillful  and  industrious  earn 
as  much  as  three  francs  a  day  :  the  indolent  ones, 
las  holgazanas,  sleep  with  their  arms  crossed  on  the 


SEVILLE.  319 

table  and  their  heads  resting  on  their  arms.  The 
mothers  work  while  rocking  the  cradle  by  means  of 
a  rope  tied  to  one  leg.  From  the  cigar-room  you 
pass  to  that  of  the  cigarettes,  from  the  latter  to  that 
of  the  boxes,  from  this  to  the  one  of  the  packing 
cases,  and  everywhere  you  see  rose-colored  petti- 
coats, black  hair,  and  great  eyes.  In  each  of  these 
rooms  how  many  histories  of  love,  jealousy,  aban- 
donment, and  misery  one  might  find  !  On  coniing 
out  of  the  factory,  you  seem  to  see  on  every  side, 
for  a  time,  black  pupils  which  look  at  you  with  a 
thousand  different  expressions  of  curiosity,  ennui, 
sympathy,  sadness,  and  drowsiness. 

That  same  day  I  went  to  see  the  picture-gallery. 

The  museum  of  painting  in  Seville  does  not  pos- 
sess a  great  number  of  pictures  ;  but  those  few  are 
worth  a  large  gallery.  There  are  the  masterpieces 
of  Murillo,  among  which  is  the  St.  Anthony  of 
Padua,  called  the  most  divinely  inspired  of  his  crea- 
tions, and  one  of  the  greatest  marvels  of  human 
p-enius.     I  visited  the  museum  with   Senor    Gonzalo 

o 

Segovia  and  Ardizone,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
young  men  in  Seville,  and  I  wish  that  he  was  here  be- 
side my  table  to  testify  with  his  signature  that  when  I 
looked  at  the  picture  I  grasped  him  by  the  arm  and 
uttered  a  cry. 

Only  once  in  my  life  have  I  experienced  an  emo- 
tion similar  to  that  which  seized  me  at  the  sieht  of 
this  picture.  It  was  on  a  beautiful  summer  night, 
the  sky  was  full  of  stars,  and  the  immense  plain, 
which  one  could  take  in  at  a  grlance  from  the  heisfht 
where  I  stood,  was  wrapped  in  a  profound  silence. 
One  of  the  noblest  creatures  whom  I  have  ever 
known  was  beside  me.  A  few  hours  before,  we  had 
read  several  pages  in  a  book  of  Humboldt's.     We 


320  SPAIN. 

looked  at  the  sky,  and  talked  of  the  earth's  motion, 
of  the  millions  of  worlds,  and  of  the  infinite,  in  thai 
subdued  tone  of  voice  which  comes  involuntarily 
when  one  is  speaking  of  such  things  at  night,  and 
in  a  silent  place.  At  a  certain  time  we  became 
silent,  and  each  one  abandoned  himself,  his  eyes  gaz- 
inof  heavenward,  to  his  own  fancies.  I  do  not  know 
by  what  train  of  thought  I  was  led  to  the  point  I 
reached,  what  mysterious  effect  was  produced  upon 
my  heart,  nor  what  I  had  seen  or  dreamed,  but  I 
know  that  suddenly  a  veil  seemed  to  be  rent  before 
my  mind,  and  I  felt  within  me  a  perfect  conviction 
of  that  which  up  to  this  time  I  had  rather  desired 
than  believed.  My  heart  expanded  into  a  senti- 
ment of  supreme  joy,  angelic  sweetness,  and  bound- 
less hope  ;  a  flood  of  scalding  tears  filled  my  eyes, 
and  seizing  that  friendly  hand  which  sought  my  own, 
I  exclaimed  from  the  depth  of  my  soul  :  "  It  is  true  ! 
It  is  true!"  and  began  to  cry  like  a  child. 

The  St.  A^ttJwny  of  Padua  caused  the  same  emo- 
tion. The  saint  is  kneeling  in  the  middle  of  his 
cell  ;  the  infant,  Jesus,  half  veiled  in  a  white,  vapor- 
ous light,  attracted  by  the  force  of  his  pra)'er,  is  de- 
scending into  his  arms,  and  St.  Anthony,  in  a  state 
of  ecstacy,  clashes  forward  with  all  his  soul  and  body 
toward  him,  throwing  back  his  head,  the  face  radi- 
ant with  an  expression  of  gratitude.  So  great  was 
the  effect  this  picture  produced  upon  me,  that  after 
a  few  moments'  contemplation,  I  was  as  weary  as  if 
I  had  visited  a  great  gallery,  and  was  seized  with  a 
tremor  which  lasted  as  long  as  1  remained  in  that 
room.  I  afterward  saw  the  other  great  pictures  of 
Murillo  :  a  ConcepcioUy  a  Saint  Francis  embracing 
Christ,  another  Vision  of  Saint  AntJiony,  and  not 
less  than  twenty    others,  among    which  is  the    be- 


SEVILLE.  321 

witching  and  famous  Virgin  of  the  Napkin,  painted 
by  JNIurillo  upon  a  real  napkin,  in  the  Convent  of 
the  Capuchinos  at  Seville,  to  satisfy  a  desire  ex- 
pressed by  the  lay-brother  who  was  serving  him. 
It  is  one  of  his  most  delicate  creations,  into  which 
he  has  thrown  all  the  magic  of  his  imimitable  color- 
ing ;  yet  none  of  these  pictures,  although  objects  of 
marvel  to  all  the  artists  of  the  world,  could  draw 
my  thoughts  and  heart  from  that  divine  Saint  An- 
thony. 

There  are  also  in  that  museum  pictures  by  the 
two  Herreras,  Pacheco,  Alfonso  Cano,  Paul  de  Ces- 
pedes,  Valdes,  and  Mulato,  who  was  Murillo's  ser- 
vant, and  admirably  imitated  his  style  ;  and  last  of 
all.  the  famous  great  picture  of  the  Apotheosis  of  St. 
Thomas  of  Aquinas.,  by  Francis  Zurbaran,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  artists  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
surnamed  the  Spanish  Caravaggio,  perhaps  superior 
to  the  latter  in  truth  and  moral  sentiment,  a  power- 
ful naturalist,  vigorous  colorist,  and  an  inimitable 
depictor  of  austere  monks,  emaciated  saints,  pensive 
hermits,  and  terrible  priests ;  and  above  all  a  poet 
who  was  not  vanquished  by  penitence,  solitude,  and 
meditation. 

After  having  showed  me  the  picture-gallery,  Se- 
nor  Gonzalo  Segovia  took  me  through  a  number  of 
little  streets,  to  the  famous  Francos  Street,  which  is 
one  of  the  principal  ones  of  the  city,  and  stopping 
before  the  small  shop  of  a  clothes  merchant,  smil- 
ingly said : 

"  Look ;  doesn't  this  shop  make  you  think  of 
any  thing  ?  " 

"  Really,  nothing." 

"  Look  at  the  number." 

"  It  is  number  fifteen  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  " 


322  SPAIN. 

"  Oh,  gracious !  "    exclaimed  my  amiable  guide. 

"  Number  fifteen, 
On  the  left  hand  !  " 

"  The  shop  of  the  Barber  of  Seville  !  "  I  cried. 

"  Exactly  that,"  he  replied,  "  the  shop  of  the 
barber  of  Seville  ;  but  be  careful,  if  you  talk  of  it 
in  Italy,  not  to  take  your  oath  on  the  matter,  be- 
cause traditions  are  often  treacherous,  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  an  historical  as- 
sertion of  so  much  importance." 

At  that  moment  the  merchant  came  to  the  door, 
and  divining  the  reason  of  our  presence,  laughed 
and  said  : — "  No  esta." — "  Figaro  is  not  here  ; "  then 
graciously  bowing,  withdrew. 

I  begged  Senor  Gonzalo  to  show  me  a  patio, 
one  of  those  enchanting  ^cz/z^i'  which,  in  looking  at 
them  from  the  street,  had  made  me  dream  of  so 
many  delights. 

"I  wish  to  see  at  least  one  of  them,"  I  said  to 
him  ;  "  I  want  to  unravel  its  mysteries,  to  touch  its 
walls,  and  to  assure  myself  that  it  is  a  real  thing, 
and  not  a  vision."  My  desire  was  instantly  gratified. 
We  entered  the  patio  of  one  of  his  friends.  Senor 
Gonzalo  told  the  servant  the  object  of  our  visit,  and 
we  were  left  alone.  The  house  had  only  one  floor. 
The  patio  was  not  larger  than  an  ordinary  room  ;  but 
was  all  marble  and  flowers,  had  a  jet  of  water  in  the 
centre,  pictures  and  statuary  all  around,  and  from 
roof  to  roof  was  stretched  an  awning  to  keep  off  the 
sun.  In  one  corner  was  a  work-table  ;  here  and 
there  were  chairs  and  footstools,  upon  which,  per- 
haps, but  a  short  time  before,  had  rested  the  feet  of 
some  Andalusian,  who  was  now  peeping  at  us 
through  the  slats  of  the  blind.  I  looked  at  every 
thing  attentively,  as  I  should  have  done  in  a  house 


SEVILLE.  323 

abandoned  by  the  fairies  ;  seated  myself,  closed  my 
eyes,  and  imagined  myself  the  master  ;  then  rose, 
dipped  my  hand  into  the  fountain,  felt  of  a  small 
column,  went  to  the  door,  picked  a  flower,  raised  my 
eyes  to  the  windows,  laughed,  gave  a  sigh,  and  said  ; 

"  How  happy  the  people  who  live  here  must  be." 
At  that  moment  I  heard  some  one  lau^h,  turned 
around,  and  saw  two  eyes  (which  instantly  disap- 
peared) gleaming  behind  the  shutter. 

"  In  truth,"  I  said,  "  I  did  not  believe  that  anyone 
could  live  so  poetically.  To  think  that  you  enjoy 
these  houses  all  through  your  life,  and  that  you  have 
any  desire  to  rack  your  brains  with  politics !  " 

Sefior  Gonzalo  explained  all  the  secrets  of  the 
house. 

"  All  this  furniture,"  he  said,  "  these  pictures,  and 
vases  of  flowers  disappear  as  autumn  approaches, 
and  go  upstairs,  which  is  the  spring  and  winter 
dwelling-place.  As  summer  draws  near,  beds, 
wardrobes,  tables,  chairs,  and-  every  thing  are 
brought  to  the  rooms  on  the  ground- floor,  and  the 
family  sleeps  and  eats  here,  receiving  their  friends, 
and  working  among  the  flowers  and  statuary  to  the 
murmur  of  the  fountain.  As  the  doors  are  left  open 
at  night,  one  sees  from  the  sleeping  rooms  the  patio 
illuminated  by  the  moon,  and  perceives  the  odor  of 
the  roses." 

"  Oh,  that 's  enough,"  I  exclaimed,  "that 's  enough  ; 
Sefior  Gonzalo,  have  some  pity  for  strangers !  " 
and  both  laughing  heartily,  we  left  the  patio  to  go 
and  see  the  famous  Casa  de  Pilatos. 

In  passing  through  a  solitary  little  street,  I  saw  in 
the  show-window  of  a  hardware  establishment  a 
collection  of  such  immensely  long,  broad  knives 
that  I  was  instantly  seized  by  the  desire  to  purchase 


324  SPAIN. 

one.  I  entered  ;  twenty  or  more  were  spread  out 
for  my  inspection,  and  I  had  them  opened  one  by 
one.  Every  time  a  blade  was  opened  I  gave  a  step 
backward.  I  do  not  believe  one  can  imagine  a  more 
horrible  or  barbarous-looking  weapon  than  this.  It 
has  a  copper,  brass,  or  horn  handle,  is  slightly 
curved,  and  cut  in  open  work  which  shows  little 
streaks  of  various-colored  isinglass,  opens  with  a 
noise  like  that  of  a  rattle,  and  out  comes  a  blade  as 
broad  as  your  hand,  and  two  palms  in  length,  in  the 
shape  of  a  fish,  as  sharp  as  a  dagger,  and  orna- 
mented with  chasings  colored  red  (so  that  they  look 
like  stains  of  congealed  blood),  and  menacing  and 
ferocious  inscriptions.  On  one  is  written  in  Spanish  : 
"  Do  not  open  me  without  cause,  or  close  me  with- 
out honor  ;  "  on  another  :  "  Where  I  touch  all  is  fin- 
ished ;  "  on  a  third  :  "  When  this  snake  bites  no  phy- 
sician is  of  any  avail ;  "  and  other  pleasant  mottoes 
of  the  same  nature.  The  proper  name  of  these 
knives  is  navaja,  which  also  means  razor,  and 
the  navaja  is  the  weapon  with  which  the  com- 
mon people  fight  their  duels.  Now,  it  has  rather 
fallen  into  disuse,  but  once  it  was  in  great  demand. 
There  were  masters  in  this  art,  each  one  of  whom 
had  his  secret  thrust,  and  the  people  fought  duels  in 
accordance  with  all  the  rules  of  the  cavaliers.  I 
purchased  the  most  enormous  navaja  in  the  shop, 
and  we  continued  our  route. 

The  Casa  de  Pilatos  belono-ino^  to  the  Medina- 
Coeli  family,  is,  after  the  Alcazar,  the  most  beautiful 
monument  of  Arabian  architecture  in  Seville. 
The  name  came  from  the  fact  that  the  man  who  built 
it,  Don  Enriquez  de  Ribera,  the  first  Marquis 
of  Tarifa,  had  it  copied  after  the  dwelling  of 
the  Roman  prelate,  which  he  had  seen  at  Jer- 
usalem, where  he  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage.     The 


SEVILLE.  325 

external  appearance  of  the  house  is  simple  ;  the  in- 
terior is  marvellous.  You  first  enter  a  court,  not 
less  beautiful  than  the  enchanting  one  of  the  Al- 
cazar, girdled  by  a  double  row  of  arches  supported 
by  beautiful  marble  columns,  which  form  two  very 
light  galleries,  one  above  the  other,  and  so  delicate 
as  to  make  one  fear  that  the  first  breath  of  wind 
may  destroy  them.  In  the  centre  is  a  graceful  foun- 
tain, upheld  by  four  marble  dolphins,  and  crowned 
by  a  head  of  Janus.  The  walls  are  ornamented,  at 
their  base,  by  dazzling  mosaics ;  farther  up,  they  are 
covered  with  every  kind  of  capricious  arabesque  ; 
and  here  and  there  open  into  beautiful  niches 
which  contain  the  busts  of  Roman  emperors.  At 
the  four  corners  of  the  court  rise  four  colossal 
statues.  The  rooms  are  worthy  of  the  court  ;  the 
ceilings,  walls,  and  doors  are  sculptured,  embroid- 
ered, beflowered,  and  covered  with  historical  scenes, 
all  executed  with  the  delicacy  of  a  miniature.  In 
an  old  chapel  of  mixed  Gothic  and  Arabian  style, 
most  elegant  in  form,  is  preserved  a  small  pillar,  lit- 
tle more  than  three  feet  in  height,  donated  by  Pius 
V  to  a  descendant  of  the  builder  of  the  palace, 
who  was  at  that  time  Viceroy  at  Naples  ;  and  it 
is  to  this  pillar,  according  to  tradition,  that  Jesus 
Christ  was  bound  for  his  scourging  ;  all  of  which 
proves  that  Pius  V  did  not  believe  this,  otherwise  he 
would  scarcely  have  committed  the  unpardonable 
error  of  depriving  himself  of  such  a  valuable  relic 
for  the  benefit  of  the  first  comer.  The  whole  palace 
is  filled  with  sacred  associations.  On  the  first  floor, 
the  custodian  shows  you  a  window  that  corresponds 
to  that  near  which  Peter  was  seated  when  he  de- 
nied Jesus,  and  the  little  window  from  which  the 
maid-servant  recognized  him.     From  the  street  you 


326  SPAIN. 

see  another  window  with  a  Httle  stone  balcony  that 
occupies  precisely  the  place  of  that  where  Jesus  was 
shown  to  the  people  with  a  crown  of  thorns.  The 
earden  is  full  of  fraofments  of  ancient  statues  brouQ^ht 
from  Italy  by  this  same  Don  Pedro  Afan  de  Ribera, 
Viceroy  of  Naples.  Among  the  other  fibs  which 
they  tell  about  that  mysterious  garden  is,  that  Don 
Pedro  Afan  de  Ribera  had  placed  there  an  urn, 
brought  from  Italy,  which  contained  the  ashes  of 
the  Emperor  Trajan,  and  that  some  curious  person 
having  awkwardly  overturned  the  urn,  the  emper- 
or's ashes  were  scattered  in  the  grass,  and  that  no 
one  ever  succeeded  in  gathering  them  together 
again.  Thus  the  august  monarch,  born  at  Italica, 
had  returned,  by  a  strange  accident,  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  his  native  city,  not  quite  in  a  condition 
to  go  and  meditate  upon  its  ruins,  it  is  true  ;  but, 
nevertheless,  he  was  near  them. 

After  all  I  have  jotted  down,  it  may  be  said, 
not  that  I  saw  Seville,  but  that  I  began  to  see  it. 
I  stop  here,  however,  because  all  things  must  have 
an  end  ;  so  leave  on  one  side  the  promenades, 
squares,  gates,  libraries,  public  palaces,  houses  of  the 
grandees,  gardens,  and  churches  ;  confining  myself  to 
the  remark  that  after  having  roamed  about  for  sev- 
eral days  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  I  was  obliged  to 
leave  Seville  with  my  conscience  overwhelmed  by  a 
feeling  of  remorse.  I  no  longer  knew  which  way 
to  turn.  I  had  reached  such  a  stage  of  weariness, 
that  the  announcement  of  something  new  to  see 
filled  me  with  more  alarm  than  pleasure.  The  ex- 
cellent Senor  Gonsalvo  inspired  me  with  courage, 
comforted  me,  and  shortened  my  road  by  his  very 
pleasant  society  ;  but  the  fact  remains,  that  I  only 
retain  a  very  confused  idea  of  the  things  seen  dur- 
ing those  last  few  days. 


SEVILLE.  327 

Seville,  although  it  no  longer  deserves  the  glori- 
ous title  of  the  Athens  of  Spain,  as  in  the  time  of 
Charles  V  and  Philip  II  (when,  mother  and  hostess 
of  a  great  and  choice  body  of  poets  and  painters,  it 
was  the  seat  of  civilization  and  the  arts  of  the  vast 
empire  of  its  monarchs),  is  always  among  the  cities 
of  Spain  (with  the  exception  of  Madrid)  the  one 
where  artistic  life  is  most  flourishing,  as  regards  the 
greatest  number  of  genuises,  the  labors  of  the  pa- 
trons of  art,  and  the  nature  of  the  people,  who  are 
passionately  devoted  to  the  fine  arts.  There  is  a 
flourishing  academy  of  literature,  a  society  for  the 
protection  of  the  arts,  a  famous  university,  and  a 
body  of  sculptors  and  savants  who  have  a  great  rep- 
utation in  Spain. 

The  person  most  noted  in  literary  circles  at  Se- 
ville is  a  woman,  Catherine  Bohl,  the  authoress  of  the 
novels  which  bear  the  name  of  Fernan  Caballero,  are 
very  popular  in  Spain  and  America,  have  been  trans- 
lated into  nearly  all  the  languages  of  Europe,  and  are 
known  also  in  Italy  (where  some  of  them  were  pub- 
lished a  short  time  ago)  by  every  one  who  is  at  all 
interested  in  foreign  literature.  They  are  admirable 
pictures  of  Andalusian  life,  full  of  truth,  soul,  and 
grace,  and,  above  all,  such  a  powerful,  vigorous  faith, 
such  intrepid  religious  enthusiasm,  and  such  ardent 
Christian  charity,  that  the  most  sceptical  man  in  the 
world  would  be  touched  by  them.  Catherine  Bohl 
is  a  woman  who  would  meet  martyrdom  with  the 
firmness  and  serenity  of  St.  Ignatius.  The  con- 
sciousness of  her  own  strength  reveals  itself  on 
every  page.  She  does  not  confine  herself  to  defend- 
ing and  preaching  religion,  but  she  assails,  threat- 
ens, and  denounces  its  enemies  ;  not  alone  the  ene- 
mies of  religion,  but  also  every  man  and  every  thing 


328  SPAIN. 

which  is  imbued  with,  to  make  use  of  a  common  phrase, 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  because  she  never  excuses  any 
thinof  that  has  been  clone  in  the  world  from  the  time 
of  the  Inquisition  to  the  present  day,  and  is  more  in- 
exorable than  the  Syllabus.  This  is,  perhaps,  her 
greatest  defect  as  a  writer,  because  her  religious  dis- 
sertations and  invectives  are  too  frequent,  so  that 
when  they  do  not  disgust  one,  they  weary  and  preju- 
dice him,  rather  than  produce  the  desired  effect. 
However,  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  bitterness  in 
her  soul,  and  what  she  is  in  her  books,  that  she  is  in 
her  life  :  lovely,  good,  and  charitable,  and,  therefore, 
is  worshipped  like  a  saint  in  Seville.  She  was  born 
in  that  city,  married  very  young,  and  is  now  a  widow 
for  the  third  time.  Her  last  husband  who  was  am- 
bassador from  Spain  to  London,  killed  himself,  and 
from  that  day  she  has  never  left  off  her  mourning. 
She  is  nearly  seventy,  was  very  beautiful,  and  her 
noble  and  serene  face  still  bears  the  imprint  of 
beauty.  Her  father,  who  'was  an  extremely  clever 
and  cultivated  man,  made  her  learn  several  lan- 
guages when  she  was  young ;  so  that  she  under- 
stands Latin  thoroughly,  and  speaks  Italian,  German, 
and  French,  with  marvellous  facility.  Yet  although 
the  European  and  American  newspapers  and  pub- 
lishers make  her  large  offers,  she  never  writes  at  all 
now,  but  still  does  not  lead  an  idle  life.  She  reads 
from  morning  until  night  every  kind  of  book,  and 
while  reading  either  knits  or  embroiders,  because 
she  feels  that  her  literary  studies  ought  not  to  take 
one  moment  from  her  feminine  occupations.  She 
has  no  children,  lives  in  a  solitary  house,  the  best 
portion  of  which  she  has  given  up  to  a  poor  family, 
and  she  spends  the  greater  part  of  her  property  on 
charity.     One  very  curious  trait  of  her  character  is 


SEVILLE.  329 

the  strong  affection  she  has  for  all  kinds  of  animals  ; 
she  has  her  house  filled  with  birds,  cats,  and  does  ;  and 
she  is  so  extremely  sensitive  in  this  regard  that  she 
has  never  been  willing  to  put  her  foot  into  a  carriage 
lest  a  horse  should  be  whipped  on  her  account. 
Every  kind  of  suffering  affects  her  as  if  it  were  her 
own  ;  the  sight  of  a  blind  man,  a  sick  person,  or  of 
any  species  of  misfortune,  disturbs  her  for  the  entire 
day.  She  cannot  go  to  sleep,  if  she  has  not  first 
dried  some  weeping  eyes,  and  she  would  gladly  give 
up  all  her  fame  to  save  an  unknown  person  from  a 
heartache.  Before  the  revolution  she  lived  less 
alone ;  the  Montpensier  family  received  her  with 
great  honor  ;  the  most  illustrious  families  of  Seville 
vied  with  each  other  in  entertaining  her  ;  but  now 
she  lives  only  among-  her  books  and  a  few  friends.    -^ 

During  the  time  of  the  Arabs,  Cordova  took 
the  first  rank  in  literature,  and  Seville  in  music. 
Averroes  said  :  "  When  a  savant  dies  at  Seville,  and 
they  wish  to  sell  his  books,  they  send  to  Cordova  ; 
but  if  a  musician  dies  at  Cordova,  they  send  his  in- 
struments to  Seville  to  be  sold."  Now  Cordova  has 
lost  her  literary  prestige,  and  Seville  has  them  both. 
Certainly  these  are  no  longer  the  days  in  which  a 
poet,  by  singing  of  the  beauty  of  a  girl,  could  draw 
a  crowd  of  lovers  about  her,  from  all  parts  of  the 
kingdom  ;  or  one  prince  envied  another  simply  be- 
cause a  poem  had  been  written  in  his  honor,  which 
w^as  more  beautiful  than  any  he  himself  had  inspired  ; 
or  a  caliph  rewarded  the  author  of  a  fine  national 
hymn  with  a  present  of  a  hundred  camels,  a  band  of 
slaves,  and  a  golden  vase  ;  or  when  an  ingenious 
strophe,  improvised  at  the  right  moment,  loosened 
the  chains  of  a  slave,  or  saved  the  life  of  one 
condemned  to  death, — those  days,  when   musicians 


330  SPAIN. 

walked  through  the  streets  of  Seville  followed  by  a 
train  of  monarchs,  or  the  favor  of  poets  was  sought 
like  that  of  the  kings,  and  the  lyre  was  more  feared 
than  the  sword.  Yet  the  Sevillians  are  still  the 
most  poetical  people  in  Spain.  The  bon-mot,  the 
term  of  endearment,  and  the  expression  of  joy  and 
enthusiasm  burst  from  their  lips  with  a  bewitching 
grace  and  spontaneity. 

The  common  people  of  Seville  improvise  verses, 
talk  so  that  they  seem  to  be  singing,  gesticulate  as  if 
they  were  declaiming,  and  laugh  and  frolic  like  chil- 
dren. One  never  grows  old  at  Seville.  It  is  a  city 
where  life  melts  away  in  a  continuous  smile,  without 
any  other  thought  than  that  of  enjoying  the  beauti- 
ful sky,  lovely  houses,  and  luxurious  gardens.  It  is 
the  most  quiet  city  in  Spain  ;  is  the  only  one,  in 
fact,  Vv^hich,  from  the  revolution  up  to  the  present 
time,  has  not  been  agitated  by  any  of  those  sad  polit- 
ical demonstrations  which  have  convulsed  the  others. 
Politics  do  not  extend  beyond  the  surface  ;  they 
spend  their  time  in  making  love,  take  every  thing  else 
as  a  joke  [iodo  lo  tomar  de  broma,  as  the  other  Span- 
iards say  of  the  Sevillians)  ;  and,  in  truth,  with  that 
perfumed  air,  those  small  streets,  like  oriental  cities, 
and  the  little  women  full  of  fire,  why  should  they 
trouble  themselves  about  any  thing  ?  They  are  badly 
spoken  of  at  Madrid,  where  it  is  said  that  they  are 
vain,  false,  changeable,  and  given  to  gossip.  It  is 
nothing  but  jealousy  !  The  Madrid  people  envy 
them  their  happy  temperament,  the  sympathy  which 
they  inspire  in  strangers,  their  girls,  poets,  painters, 
orators,  Giralda,  Alcazar,  Guadalquiver,  lifo,  and  his- 
tory !  At  least  so  the  Sevillians  declare,  while  beat- 
ine  themselves  on  the  breast,  and  sendino^  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke  from  their  inseparable  cigarrito ;  and 


SEVILLE.  331 

their  beautiful  little  women  revenge  themselves  on 
those  of  Madrid  and  the  rest  of  the  world,  by  speak- 
ing with  a  contemptuous  pity  of  the  long  feet,  large 
waists,  and  dead  eyes,  which  in  Andalusia  would 
not  be  honored  by  a  glance  or  sigh.  They  are  a 
beautiful  and  amiable  people,  in  truth,  but,  alas  !  one 
must  look  at  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  Super- 
stition reigns,  and  there  are  few  schools  (as  is  the 
case  throughout  almost  all  of  Southern  Spain), 
which  is,  in  part,  their  own  fault,  and  partly  not ;  but, 
perhaps,  the)^  are  most  to  blame  in  the  matter. 

The  day  fixed  for  my  departure  arrived  most  un- 
expectedly. It  is  strange,  but  I  scarcely  remember 
any  of  the  particulars  of  my  life  in  Seville.  It  is 
quite  a  marvel  if  I  can  tell  myself  where  I  dined, 
what  I  talked  about  to  the  consul,  or  how  I  passed 
the  evenings,  and  why  I  arranged  to  leave  on  a  cer- 
tain day.  I  was  not  quite  myself,  and  was  really 
bewildered  during  my  entire  sojourn  in  that  city. 
Aside  from  the  museum  and  patio,  my  friend  Segovia 
must  have  found  that  I  knew  very  little ;  and  now,  I 
do  not  know  why,  I  think  of  those  days  as  a  dream. 
No  other  city  has  left  upon  me  so  vague  an  impression 
as  Seville.  Even  to-day,  while  I  am  very  sure  of  hav- 
ing been  at  Saragossa,  Madrid,  and  Toledo,  sometimes 
in  thinking  of  Seville,  I  am  seized  by  a  doubt.  It 
seems  to  me  like  a  city  much  farther  away  than  the 
last  boundaries  of  Spain,  and  that  to  return  to  it  I 
should  be  obliged  to  travel  for  months,  cross  un- 
known territories,  great  seas,  and  meet  people  quite 
different  from  us.  I  think  of  the  streets  of  Seville,  of 
certain  little  squares  and  houses,  as  I  would  think  of 
spots  on  the  moon.  At  times  the  image  of  that  city 
passes  before  my  eyes,  without  my  mind  being  able 
to  grasp  it  at  all  ;  I  see   it  in  smelling  an  orange 


332  SPAIN. 

with  my  eyes  closed  ;  and  in  taking  the  air  at  certain 
hours  of  the  day,  at  a  garden  gate ;  or  in  humming 
a  melody  which  I  heard  sung  by  a  boy  on  the  stair- 
case of  the  Giralda.  I  cannot  explain  this  secret  to 
myself,  for  I  think  of  it  as  I  would  do  of  a  city  still 
to  be  seen,  and  I  enjoy  looking  at  the  pictures  and 
books  I  purchased  there,  because  they  are  the  things 
which  prove  to  me  that  I  have  been  there. 

A  month  asjo  I  received  a  letter  from  Segovia, 
which  said  to  me:  "Come  back  to  us;'  which  gave 
me  great  pleasure,  but  I  laughed,  at  the  time,  as  if 
some  one  had  written  :  "  Take  a  trip  to  Pekin."  It 
is  just  for  this  reason  that  Seville  is  dearer  to  me 
than  all  the  cities  of  Spain  ;  I  love  it  as  I  should  an 
unknown  woman,  who,  in  passing  through  a  myste- 
rious thicket,  had  given  me  a  glance  and  thrown  me 
a  flower.  How  many  times  when  a  friend  shakes 
me,  saying  :  "  What  are  you  thinking  about  ? " 
(whether  it  be  in  the  parquet  of  a  theatre  or  in  a 
cafe)  I  am  forced,  in  order  to  return  to  him,  to  leave 
Maria  de  Padilla's  little  room,  a  boat  that  is  gliding 
under  the  shade  of  the  plane  trees  on  the  Christina 
promenade,  the  shop  of  Figaro,  or  the  vestibule  of 
a  patio  filled  with  flowers,  sprays  of  water,  and 
lights  ! 

I  embarked  on  a  ship  of  the  Segovia  Company, 
near  the  Torre  del  Oro,  at  an  hour  when  Seville  was 
buried  in  a  profound  slumber,  and  a  burning  sun 
covered  it  with  a  sea  of  light.  I  remember  that  a 
few  moments  before  our  departure,  a  young  fellow 
came  on  board  to  look  for  me,  and  handed  me  a  let- 
ter from  Gonzalo  Segovia,  which  contained  a  son- 
net, that  1  still  preserve  as  one  of  the  most  precious 
mementoes  of  Seville.  On  the  boat  was  a  company 
of  Spanish  singers,  an   English  family,  some  work- 


SEVILLE.  333 

men,  and  children.  The  captain,  like  a  good  Anda- 
lusian,  had  a  kind  word  for  all.  I  instantly  began  a 
conversation  with  him.  My  friend  Gonzalo  is  a  son 
of  the  owner  of  the  ship ;  we  talked  of  the  Segovia 
family,  Seville,  the  sea,  and  a  thousand  pleasant 
things.  Ah  !  poor  man,  he  was  far  from  thinking 
that  a  few  days  later  that  unfortunate  ship  would 
have  gone  down  in  mid  ocean,  and  he  would  have 
come  to  such  a  terrible  end  !  It  was  the  GiLadaira 
which  burst  its  boiler  a  short  distance  from  Mar- 
seilles, on  the  1 6th  of  June,  1872. 

At  three  o'clock  the  ship  started  for  Cadiz. 


T 


CHAPTER  X. 

CADIZ. 

HAT  evening  was  the  most  delightful  of  ail 
my  journey. 
Shortly  after  the  steamer  had  started,  there  rose 
one  of  those  light  breezes  which  play,  like  the  hand 
of  a  child,  with  the  bow  of  the  cravat  and  hair  on 
one's  temples  ;  and  from  bow  to  stern  came  the 
voices  of  women  and  children,  as  is  always  the  case 
with  a  party  of  friends  at  the  first  snap  of  the  whip 
which  announces  the  departure  for  a  gay  trip  into 
the  country.  All  the  passengers  gathered  at  the 
stern  under  an  awning  as  variegated  as  a  Chinese 
pavilion,  some  sitting  on  the  cordage,  some 
stretched  out  on  benches,  others  leaning  over  the 
railing,  and  all  turning  toward  the  Torre  del  Oro, 
to  enjoy  the  famous  and  enchanting  sight  of  Seville 
as  it  withdraws  and  disappears  from  view.  Some 
women's  faces  were  still  bathed  with  the  farewell 
tears,  the  children  were  still  bewildered  by  the  noise 
of  the  machinery,  and  some  ladies  had  not  yet  fin- 
ished scolding  the  porters  because  they  had  ill- 
treated  their  trunks  ;  but  a  few  moments  later  all 
grew  quiet,  began  eating  oranges,  lighting  cigars, 
passing  small  fiasks  of  liquor,  entering  into  conver- 
sation with  strangers,  humming  and  laughing,  and 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we   were  all  friends.     The 

334 


CADIZ.  335 

ship  glided  with  the  ease  of  a  gondola  over  the 
quiet  and  limpid  waters  which  reflected  like  a  mirror 
the  white  dresses  of  the  ladies,  and  the  air  brought 
us  the  odor  of  oranofes  from  the  oroves  on  the  shore 
peopled  with  villas.  Seville  was  hidden  behind  its 
girdle  of  gardens  ;  and  we  could  only  see  an  im- 
mense mass  of  very  green  trees,  above  them  the 
black  pile,  the  cathedral,  and  the  Giralda,  all  rose- 
color,  surmounted  by  its  statue  flaming  like  a  tongue 
of  fire.  As  we  got  farther  and  farther  away,  the 
cathedral  appeared  grander  and  more  majestic,  as  if 
it  were  keeping  behind  the  ship  and  gaining  on 
us  ;  now  it  seemed,  although  following  us,  to  with- 
draw from  the  shore  ;  now  that  it  was  astride  the 
river  ;  one  moment,  appeared  to  have  suddenly  re- 
turned to  its  place,  and  an  instant  later  was  appar- 
ently so  near  as  to  make  one  suspect  that  we  were 
going  back.  The  Guadalquiver  wound  along  in 
short  curves,  and  Seville  appeared  and  disappeared, 
accordinof  to  the  direction  the  steamer  took.  Now 
it  peeped  out  on  one  side  as  if  it  had  stretched  be- 
yond its  boundary  ;  now  sprang  suddenly  above  the 
groves,  gleaming  like  a  height  covered  with  snow  ; 
then  showed  some  white  streaks  here  and  there 
among  the  green,  and  hid  itself  again,  playing  all 
sorts  of  coquettish  tricks  like  a  capricious  woman. 
Finally  it  disappeared  and  we  saw  it  no  more  ;  then 
only  the  cathedral  remained.  At  this  point  every 
one  turned  to  look  at  the  shore.  We  seemed  to  be 
floating  on  the  lake  of  a  garden.  Here  was  a  hill 
covered  with  cypress,  there  a  flowery  slope,  farther 
on  a  village  scattered  along  the  bank  ;  under  the 
arbors  in  the  gardens,  or  on  the  terraces  of  the  vil- 
las were  ladies  looking  at  us  through  opera-glasses. 
Here  and  there  were  families  of  peasants  dressed  in 


33^  SPAIN. 

bright  colors,  sail-boats,  and  naked  boys  who  were 
diving  and  tumbling  about  in  the  water,  screaming, 
and  waving  their  hands  at  the  ladies  on  the  ship, 
who  straightway  covered  their  faces  with  their  fans. 
Some  miles  from  Seville,  we  met  three  steamers 
quite  close  to  each  other.  The  first  came  upon  us 
so  suddenly,  in  a  turn  of  the  river,  that  I,  unaccus- 
tomed to  that  style  of  navigation,  feared  for  a 
moment  there  would  be  no  time  to  avoid  a  collision. 
The  two  boats  passed  so  near  as  almost  to  touch 
each  other,  and  the  passengers  on  both  saluted  one 
another,  threw  oranges  and  cigars,  and  exchanged 
messao^es  for  Seville  and  Cadiz. 

My  travelling  companions  were  almost  all  Anda- 
lusians  ;  so  that  after  an  hour's  conversation,  I 
knew  them  from  the  first  to  the  last,  as  if  they  had 
been  friends  of  my  childhood.  Each  one  instantly 
told  those  who  would  listen,  and  those  who  would 
not,  who  he  was,  how  old  he  was,  what  he  was 
doing,  where  he  was  going,  and  some  even  men- 
tioned how  many  sweethearts  they  had  had,  and  the 
number  of  pesetas  in  their  purses.  I  was  taken  for 
a  singer,  and  this  will  not  seem  strange  to  any  one 
who  knows  that  in  Spain  the  people  believe  three- 
quarters  of  the  Italians  gain  their  livelihood  by 
sincrinor,  dancinof,  and  actiuQf.  A  crentleman,  seeinof 
that  I  had  an  Italian  book  in  my  hand,  asked  me 
point-blank  : 

"  Where  did  you  leave  the  company  ■*  " 

"  What  company  ?  "   I  said. 

"  Oh,  are  you  not  the  one  who  was  singing  with 
Fricci  at  the  Theatre  of  the  Zarzuela  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry ;  but  I  have  never  been  on  the 
boards  of  a  theatre." 

"  Indeed  ;  then  I  must  say  that  the  second  tenor 
and  you  are   as  much  alike  as  two  drops  of  water." 


CADIZ.  117 

"  Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Pray,  pardon  me." 

"  Don't  mention  it." 

"  But  you  are  an  Italian  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  sing?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  do  not." 

"  That 's  curious.  To  judge  from  the  formation  of 
your  neck  and  chest,  I  should  have  said  that  you 
ought  to  have  a  powerful  tenor  voice." 

I  struck  my  chest  and  throat,  and  replied : 

"  That  may  be  ;  I  will  try  ;  one  never  can  tell. 
I  possess  two  of  the  necessary  qualities  :  I  am  an 
Italian,  and  have  the  throat  of  a  tenor  ;  perhaps  the 
voice  may  come." 

At  this  point  the  prima  donna  of  the  company, 
who  had  overheard  the  dialogue,  took  part  in  the 
conversation,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  company  fol- 
lowed her  example. 

"  The  orentleman  is  Italian.'*  " 

"  At  your  service." 

"  I  ask  because  I  want  a  favor  done.  What  is  the 
meaninor  of  those  two  lines  in  '  Trovatore  '  t  " 

o 

"  Non  pub  nemmeno  un  Dio 
Donna  rapirti  a  me." 

(Not  even  a  God  can  take  you  from  me.) 

"  Is  the  lady  married  ?  " 

All  beofan  lausfhinsf- 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  prima  donna  ;  "  but  why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because — not  even  a  God  can  take  you  from 
me,  is  what  your  husband,  if  he  has  two  good  eyes 
in  his  head,  ought  to  say  to  you  every  morning  and 
every  evening.,, 


338  SPAIN. 

"  Ni  Dios  mzsmo  podria  arrancdnnelay 
The  others  laughed  ;  but  the  prima  donna  thought 
this   fancied  pride  of  her   husband   so  strange,  this 
affirming   himself  secure    even    from  a  God,  while 
perhaps  she  knew  that  she  had   not  always  been 
wise   enough  to   avoid  the  men,  that  she  barely  re- 
turned my  compliment  with  a  smile  to  show  me  that 
she  had  understood  it.   Then  she  immediately  asked 
me  the  explanation   of  another  verse,  after  her  the 
baritone,  after  the  baritone  the  tenor,  and  after  the 
tenor  the  second  lady  ;  so  that  for  some  time  I  did 
nothing  but  turn  bad   Italian  verses  into  the  worst 
Spanish    prose,    to    the   great   satisfaction  of  those 
good  people  who,  for  the  first  time,  were  able  to  say 
that  they  comprehended  a  little  of  what  they  had 
been    singing   with  the   air  of  understanding  thor- 
oughly.    When  every  one  knew  as  much  as  he  de- 
sired, the  conversation  broke  up.    I  remained  some- 
time  with  the  baritone,    who  hummed  me  an  aria 
of  the   Zarzuela  ;  then  I  attached  myself  to  one  of 
the  chorus,  who  told  me  that  the  tenor  was  making 
love  to  the   prima  donna  ;    then  I  drew  the  tenor 
aside,  and  he  betrayed  to  me  the  little  secrets  of  the 
baritone's    wife  ;    after    which    I    talked    vv^ith    the 
prima  donna,  who,  in  her  turn,  said  the  most  horri- 
ble  things  of  the   whole  troupe  ;  yet  they  were  all 
great  friends,  and  meeting  each  other  in  the  prome- 
nade up  and  down   on   deck,  the  men  pinched  one 
another,  the  women  threw  kisses,  and  all  exchanged 
glances  and  smiles  that  revealed  secret  understand- 
ings.    Some  sang  the  gamut  here,  others  hummed 
there,  one  did  a  trill  in  this  corner,  and  another  tried 
do  in  the  chest,  which  ended  in  a   rattle,  and  mean- 
while they  all  talked  together  of  a  thousand  trifles. 
Finally,  the  bell  rang  and  we  rushed  to  table  with  the 


CADIZ.  339 

impetuosity  of  so  many  officers  invited  to  a  grand 
dinner  ijiven  in  honor  of  the  unveiline  of  a  monu- 
ment.  At  that  dinner,  amid  the  cries  and  shouts  of 
all  those  people,  I  drank,  for  the  first  time,  a  glass  of 
that  strong  wine  of  Jerez,  whose  praises  are  sung  at 
the  four  corners  of  the  globe.  I  had  scarcely  swal- 
lowed it  before  I  felt  a  spark  running  through  my 
veins,  and  my  head  became  as  heated  as  if  it  were 
full  of  sulphur.  All  the  others  drank,  were  seized 
with  an  unbridled  spirit  of  gaiety,  and  indulged  in  an 
irresistible  style  of  conversation.  The  prima  donna 
began  talking  Italian  ;  the  tenor,  French  ;  the  bari- 
tone, Portuguese  ;  the  others,  in  dialect ;  and  I ,  in  every 
language.  Then  followed  the  toasts,  songs,  cheers  ; 
glances,  pressure  of  hands  above  the  table,  touching 
of  feet  underneath,  and  the  declarations  of  sympa- 
thy were  exchanged  in  all  directions  like  the  imper- 
tinences in  Parliament,  when  the  Right  and  the  Left 
get  disputing.  At  the  close  of  the  dinner,  all  went 
on  deck,  in  the  best  of  spirits,  quite  enveloped  in 
the  smoke  of  cigarettes.  There  in  the  light  of  the 
moon,  which  made  the  river  look  like  silver,  and 
covered  the  groves  and  hillsides  with  a  very  soft 
light,  the  conversation  grew  noisier  than  before. 
After  the  conversation  came  the  songs,  not  little 
airs  of  the  Zarzuela,  but  from  grand  operas  with 
flourishes,  duets,  terzettes,  and  choruses,  accompan- 
ied by  gestures  and  stage  strides,  interspersed  with 
the  declamation  of  verses,  anecdotes,  tales,  loud 
laughter,  and  great  applause  ;  until  breathless  and 
worn  out  all  were  silent.  Some  fell  asleep  with 
up;Lirned  faces,  some  went  to  crawl  under  cover,  and 
the  prima  donna  seated  herself  in  a  corner  to  look 
at  the  moon.  The  tenor  snored,  and  I  made  the 
most  of  this  opportunity  to  have   a  little  air  of  the 


340  SPAIN. 

Zarzuela  sung  to  me  :  El  Sargento  Federico.  The 
courteous  Andalusian  did  not  wait  to  be  begged,  but 
sang  immediately  ;  suddenly,  however,  she  stopped 
and  bowed  her  head.  I  looked  at  her  and  she  was 
weeping.  I  asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  to  which 
she  sadly  replied  :  "  I  was  thinking  of  a  perjury." 
Then  burst  out  into  a  laugh,  and  began  singing 
again.  She  had  a  flexible,  harmonious  voice,  and 
sang  with  a  tender  sadness.  The  sky  was  studded 
with  stars,  and  the  boat  glided  along  so  smoothly 
that  it  scarcely  seemed  to  move.  I  thought  of  the 
gardens  of  Seville,  the  not  distant  Africa,  of  a  clear 
one  who  was  awaiting  me  in  Italy,  became  lachry- 
mose, and  when  the  woman  stopped  singing,  said  to 
her  : 

"  Sing  on  " — for 

"  Mortal  tongue  can  never  tell 
That  which  I  felt  within  my  breast." 

At  daybreak  the  boat  was  on  the  point  of  enter- 
ing the  ocean,  the  river  was  immensely  broad,  the 
right  bank  hardly  looked,  in  the  distance,  like  a  strip 
of  land,  beyond  which  shimmered  the  waters  of  the 
sea.  Some  instants  thereafter,  the  sun  appeared 
above  the  horizon,  and  the  ship  left  the  river.  Then 
such  a  spectacle  spread  out  before  our  eyes  that,  if 
one  could  combine  in  a  single  representative  art 
poetry,  painting,  and  music,  I  believe  that  Dante 
with  his  greatest  imageries,  Titian  with  his  most 
gleaming  colors,  and  Rossini  with  his  most  powerful 
harmonies,  would  not  have  succeeded  in  producing 
its  magnificence  and  fascination.  The  sky  was  a 
marvellous  blue  without  a  single  cloud,  and  the  sea 
so  beautiful  that  it  looked  like  an  immense  carpet  of 


CADIZ.  341 

shining  satin,  and  shone  on  the  crests  of  the  Httle 
waves  which  the  Hght  wind  caused,  as  if  it  were  cov- 
ered with  azure  gems.  It  formed  mirrors  and  lu- 
minous streaks,  sent  out  in  the  distance  flashes  of 
silvery  light,  and  displayed,  here  and  tliere,  tall  white 
sails,  resembling  the  floating  wings  of  gigantic  fallen 
aneels.  I  have  never  seen  such  vivid  coloring- 
wealth  of  light,  freshness,  transparency,  and  purity 
of  water  and  sky.  It  seemed  like  one  of  those 
dawns  of  the  creation  which  the  fancy  of  poets  have 
depicted  as  being  so  pure  and  gleaming  that  ours 
are  like  a  pale  reflexion  in  comparison  to  them.  It 
was  more  than  the  mere  awakening  of  nature  and 
the  rousing  of  life  ;  it  was  like  a  fete,  a  triumph,  a 
rejuvenation  of  creation,  which  felt  a  second  breath 
of  God  expanding  itself  into  the  infinite. 

I  went  down  to  fetch  my  opera-glasses,  and  when 
I  Pfot  on  deck  I  saw  Cadiz. 

The    first    impression    it    produced   was    that    of 
doubt  as  to  whether  it  really  was  a  city  or  not  ;  then 
I   laughed   and   turned   toward   my   travelling  com- 
panions with  the  air   of  a  person  who  wished  to  be 
assured  that  he  was  not  deceived.    (Cadiz  looks  like 
an  island  of  plaster.     It  is  a  great  white  spot  in  the 
midst  of  the   sea,  without  a   dark  shading,  a  black 
point,  or  a  single  shadow  upon   it ;  a  spot  very  pure 
and    white,   like    a  hill    covered   with  driven   snow, 
which   stands   out   against   a  beryl    and    turquoise- 
colored  sky,  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  watery  plain.     A 
long  narrow  strip  of  ground  joins   it  with  the  main- 
land, and  it  is  bathed  on   all  sides  by  the  sea,  like  a 
ship  ready  to  set  sail  and  only  fastened  to  the  shore 
by  a  cable.     Little  by  little  we  could  distinguish  the 
outlines  of  the  bell  towers,  the  shapes  of  the  houses, 
and    the    openings    of    the    streets.     Every  thing 


342  SPAIN. 

seemed  whiter  and  whiter  as  we  approached  it,  and 
as  long  as  I  looked  at  it  through  my  glasses,  I  was 
unable  to  discover  the  smallest  black  spot  on  the 
buildings  around  the  harbour  or  in  the  most  distant 
suburbs.  We  arrived  in  port,  where  there  were 
only  a  few  ships  at  a  great  distance  from  each  other. 
I  got  into  a  boat  without  even  taking  my  valise 
with  me  (because  I  was  to  leave  that  same  evening 
for  Malaga),  and  so  great  was  my  desire  to  see  the 
city,  that  when  the  boat  touched  the  shore,  I  jumped 
too  soon,  and  fell  to  the  ground  like  a  dead  body 
which  still  feels,  alas !  the  pains  of  a  live  one. 

Cadiz  is  the  whitest  city  in  the  world  ;  and  it  is 
useless  to  contradict  me  by  saying  that  I  have  not 
seen  all  the  cities,  for  I  am  right  in  declaring  that  a 
city  whiter  than  one  which  is  completely  and  super- 
latively white,  cannot  exist.  Cordova  and  Seville 
do  not  compare  with  Cadiz  ;  they  are  as  white  as 
paper,  but  Cadiz  is  as  white  as  milk.  In  order  to 
give  an  idea  of  it,  one  could  not  do  better  than  write 
the  word  "  white "  with  a  white  pencil  on  blue 
paper,  and  make  a  note  on  the  margin  :  "  Impres- 
sions of  Cadiz."  Cadiz  is  one  of  the  most  extrava- 
gant and  graceful  of  human  caprices.  Not  only  are 
the  external  walls  of  the  house  white,  but  the  houses 
themselves,  their  courts,  walls  of  the  shops,  the  stone 
seats,  pilasters,  the  most  remote  corners,  darkest 
houses  of  the  poor,  or  most  unfrequented  streets.  In 
fact,  every  thing  is  white  from  attic  to  cellar,  where- 
ever  the  point  of  a  brush  can  reach,  even  to  the 
holes,  cracks,  and  birds'  nests.  In  each  house  there 
is  a  deposit  of  lime,  and  every  time  the  scrutinizing 
eye  of  its  inmates  discovers  a  small  spot,  they  make 
a  raid  with  the  brush  and  it  is  covered.  No  servant 
who  does  not  understand  whitewashing  is  received 


CADIZ,  343 

in  any  family.  A  scratch  of  charcoal  on  the  walls  is 
a  scandalous  thing,  an  attempt  to  disturb  the  public 
peace,  and  an  act  of  vandalism.  You  may  wander 
about  the  entire  city,  look  behind  all  the  doors,  poke 
your  nose  into  every  hole,  and  you  will  find  noth- 
ing but  that  everlasting  white. 

Yet,  despite  this  fact,  Cadiz  does  not  resemble  in 
the  slio^htest  deoree  the  other  Andalusian  cities. 
Its  streets  are  long  and  straight,  the  houses  high, 
and  without  the  patios  of  Cordova  and  Seville.  The 
city,  however,  does  not  strike  the  stranger  less 
agreeably  on  this  account.  The  streets  are  straight, 
but  very  narrow,  so  that,  as  they  are  very  long  too, 
and  most  of  them  cross  the  whole  city,  one  can  see, 
at  the  end,  as  through  the  crack  of  a  door,  a  small 
strip  of  sky,  which  almost  makes  it  look  like  a  city 
built  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  cut  into  points  on  all 
sides.  Moreover  ;  the  houses  have  a  large  num- 
ber of  windows,  and  every  window  is  furnished,  as 
at  Burgos,  with  a  species  of  projecting  enclosed  bal- 
cony, which  rests  on  that  of  the  window  above,  and 
supports  the  one  of  the  window  below  ;  so  that  in 
many  streets  the  houses  are  completely  covered  with 
glass.  You  hardly  see  a  bit  of  wall,  and  seem  to  be 
walkinor  through  the  corridor  of  an  immense  museum. 
Here  and  there,  between  the  houses,  project  the 
superb  branches  of  a  palm  ;  in  every  square  there 
is  a  luxurious  mass  of  verdure  ;  and  at  all  the  windows 
there  are  tufts  of  grass  and  bunches  of  flowers. 

In  truth,  I  was  far  from  imaofininof  that  it  could  be 
so  gay  and  smiling, — this  terrible  and  unfortunate 
Cadizy  burned  by  the  English  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, bombarded  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth,  dev- 
astated by  the  plague,  and  then  entertainer  of  the 
fleets   of  Trafalgar,    the  seat  of  the   revolutionary 


344  SPAIN. 

Junto  during  the  War  of  Independence,  the  theatre 
of  horrible  massacres  in  the  revohition  of  1820, 
the  standard-bearer  of  the  revolution  which  drove 
the  Bourbons  from  the  throne,  is  always  restless 
and  turbulent,  and  the  first  of  all  to  give  the  war-cry. 
Nothinor  remains  to  tell  the  tale  of  all  these  strua-crles 
and  vicissitudes  but  cannon  balls  buried  in  the  walls, 
for  over  the  other  traces  of  destruction  has  passed 
the  inexorable  brush,  which  covers  every  shame 
with  a  white  veil.j  As  in  the  case  of  the  latest  wars, 
neither  are  there  any  traces  of  the  Phoenicians  who 
founded  it,  or  of  the  Carthaginians  and  Romans  who 
embellished  it,  unless  one  chooses  to  consider  as  a 
trace  the  tradition  which  says  :  "  Here  rose  a  temple 
to  Hercules,  there  rose  one  to  Saturn."  But  time 
has  done  something  worse  than  take  from  Cadiz  its 
ancient  monuments.  It  robbed  her  of  commerce  and 
wealth,  after  Spain  lost  her  possessions  in  America  ; 
and  now  Cadiz  lies  inert  on  her  solitary  rock,  await- 
ing in  vain  the  thousand  ships  which  used  to  come, 
gaily  beflagged,  to  bring  her  the  tributes  of  the  New 
World. 

I  had  a  letter  of  introduction  for  our  consul, 
carried  it  to  him,  and  was  courteously  taken  by 
him  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers,  from  which  I 
could  take  in  the  whole  city  at  a  glance.  It  was  a 
novel  and  intense  surprise !  Cadiz,  seen  from  a 
height,  is  white  ;  yes,  as  perfectly,  purely  white  as 
when  seen  from  the  sea.  There  is  not  a  roof  in  the 
entire  city.  Every  house  is  closed  at  the  top  by  a 
terrace  surrounded  by  a  white-washed  parapet. 
From  almost  all  these  terraces  rises  a  small  tower, 
white,  too,  which,  in  its  turn,  is  surmounted  by  an- 
other terrace,  cupola,  or  species  of  sentinel's  box  ; 
every  thing  white.     All  these  little  cupolas,   points, 


CADIZ.  345 

and  battlements,  which  form  a  curious  and  very 
varied  outHne  around  the  city,  stand  out  and  appear 
whiter  still  against  the  blue  of  the  sea.  The  eye 
traverses  the  entire  isthmus  joining  Cadiz  to  the 
mainland,  takes  in  a  long  stretch  of  the  distant  coast, 
upon  which  gleam  the  cities  of  Puerto  Real  and 
Puerto  Santa  Maria,  together  with  villages,  churches, 
and  villas,  and  sweeps  over  the  harbor,  ocean,  and  a 
very  beautiful  sky  which  vies  with  the  sea  in  clear- 
ness and  light. 

I  could  not  gaze  long  enough  at  that  strange  city. 
By  half-closing  the  eyes,  it  looked  as  if  covered  with 
an  immense  sheet.  Every  house  seems  to  have 
been  built  like  an  astronomical  observatory.  The 
entire  population,  in  case  the  sea  should  inundate 
the  city,  could  betake  itself  to  the  terraces,  and  re- 
main there  (barring  the  fright)  in  ease  and  comfort. 
I  was  told  that,  a  few  years  since,  on  the  occasion 
of  some  eclipse,  this  spectacle  was  witnessed.  The 
seventy  thousand  inhabitants  of  Cadiz  all  climbed  on 
to  the  terraces  to  watch  the  phenomenon.  The  city, 
from  being  all  white,  became  a  thousand  colors ; 
every  terrace  was  crowded  with  heads,  so  that  one 
could  see  at  a  glance  quarter  after  quarter,  and  the 
entire  population,  in  fact.  A  low,  diffused  murmur 
arose,  like  the  roar  of  the  sea,  and  a  grreat  movement 
of  arms,  fans,  and  spy-glasses,  turned  upward,  made 
it  appear  as  if  all  were  awaiting  the  descent  of  an 
angel  from  the  sphere  of  the  sun.  At  a  certain  mo- 
ment there  was  a  profound  silence  ;  when  the  eclipse 
was  over,  the  entire  population  uttered  a  shout  that 
seemed  like  a  burst  of  thunder  ;  and,  a  few  moments 
thereafter,  the  city  4)ecame  white  again. 
<:^I  descended  from  the  tower  to  visit  the  cathedral, 
an  immense  marble  edifice  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


34^  SPAIN. 

which  certainly  cannot  be  compared  with  those  of 
Burgos  and  Toledo,  but  still  of  a  bold  and  noble  ar- 
chitecture, and  rich,  like  all  the  Spanish  churches,  in 
every  kind  of  treasure.  I  went  to  see  the  convent 
where  Murillo,  w^hile  painting  a  picture  above  the 
high  altar,  fell  from  the  scaffolding  and  received  the 
injury  which  caused  his  death.  I  took  a  run  through 
the  picture-gallery,  containing  some  beautiful  works 
by  Zurbaran.  I  entered  the  bull-circus,  which  is  en- 
tirely of  wood,  and  was  built  in  a  few  days  in  order 
to  offer  a  spectacle  to  Queen  Isabella.  Toward 
evening  I  took  a  walk  on  the  delicious  promenade 
along  the  sea-shore,  among  the  oranges  and  palms, 
where  the  most  beautiful  and  elegant  women  of  the 
town  were  pointed  out  to  me.  In  my  humble  opin- 
ion (whatever  that  of  the  Spaniards  may  be),  the 
feminine  type  of  Cadiz  was  not  less  attractive  than 
that  celebrated  one  at  Seville.  The  women  are  a 
little  taller,  a  trifle  stouter,  and  rather  darker.  Some 
fine  observer  has  asserted  that  they  are  of  the  Greek 
type  ;  but  I  cannot  see  where.  I  saw  nothing,  with 
the  exception  of  their  stature,  but  the  Andalusian 
type  ;  and  this  sufficed  to  make  me  heave  sighs  deep 
enough  to  have  blown  along  a  boat,  and  oblige  me 
to  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  my  ship,  as  a  place 
of  peace  and  refuge. 

When  I  went  on  board,  it  was  night ;  the  heav- 
ens were  twinkling  with  stars ;  and  the  breeze 
brought,  now  and  then,  snatches  of  music  from  the 
band  playing  on  the  promenade  at  Cadiz.  The 
singers  were  sleeping  ;  I  was  alone,  and  the  sight  of 
the  city  lights,  that  music,  and  the  recollection  of  the 
beautiful  faces  of  the  Cadiz  women,  made  me  mel- 
anchol)'.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself; 
so  went  below,  seized  my  note-book,  and  began  the 


CADIZ.  347 

description  of  Cadiz.  However,  I  only  succeeded 
in  writing  a  dozen  times  the  words  :  white,  blue, 
snow,  splendor,  colors  ;  after  which  I  sketched  the 
little  figure  of  a  woman,  and  then  closed  my  eyes 
and  dreamed  of  Italy. 


CHAPTER  XL 


MALAGA. 

THE  following  day,  at  sunset,  the  ship  crossed 
the  Strait  of  Gibraltar. 

Now,  in  looking  at  this  point  on  the  map,  it  seems 
so  near  home,  that  I  ought  not  to  hesitate  one  mo- 
ment (if  the  desire  seized  me,  and  my  domestic  ex- 
chequer would  permit)  to  pack  my  valise,  and  start 
for  Genoa  to  go  and  enjoy  once  again  the  beauti- 
ful view  of  the  two  continents.  At  that  time,  how- 
ever, I  seemed  to  be  so  far  away,  that,  having  writ- 
ten a  letter  to  my  mother,  on  the  railing  of  the  ship, 
with  the  intention  of  giving  it  to  some  passenger 
getting  off  at  Gibraltar,  to  mail,  while  addressing 
it  I  laughed  at  my  good  faith,  as  if  it  were  almost 
impossible  that  the  letter  should  reach  Turin. 
"  From  here  !  "  I  thought ;  "  from  the  pillars  of  Her- 
cules !  "  and  I  said  the  pillars  of  Hercules  as  I  should 
have  said  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  or  Japan. 

" I  am  on  the  ship  Guadaira, — I  have  at 

my  back  the  ocean,  and  before  me  the  Mediteranean  ; 
on  the  left,  Europe,  and  on  the  right,  Africa.  I  see  on 
one  side  the  Cape  of  Tarifa,  and,  on  the  right,  the 
mountains  of  the  African  coast,  which  seeni  a  little 
indistinct,  like  a  gray  cloud.  I  see  Ceuta ;  a  little 
beyond,  Tangiers  ;  and.  in  a  line  with  the  ship,  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar.     The  sea  is  as  quiet  as  a  lake,  and 

348 


MALAGA.  349 

the  sky  rose-  and  gold-color.  Every  thing  is  peace- 
ful, beautiful,  and  magnificent,  and  I  feel  in  my  mind 
an  inexplicable  and  very  sweet  confusion  of  grand 
ideas  which,  if  they  could  be  translated  into  words, 
would  come  out  in  a  joyous  prayer  begun  and  ended 

with  thy  name 

The  ship  stopped  in  the  Gulf  of  Algesiras  ;  the  en- 
tire troupe  of  singers  got  into  a  great  boat  which  had 
come  from  Gibraltar,  and  moved  off,  waving  their 
fans  and  handkerchiefs  as  a  salute.  When  we 
started  again,  night  was  falling.  Then  I  could 
measure  on  every  side  with  my  eye  that  enormous 
pile  of  rock,  Gibraltar.  At  first  it  seemed  as  if  we 
should  leave  it  behind  us  in  a  few  moments,  but  it 
was  hours  before  we  did  so.  Little  by  little,  as  we 
approached  each  other,  it  increased  in  size,  present- 
ing some  new  aspect  at  every  moment.  Now  the 
profile  of  a  huge  monster,  now  the  form  of  an  im- 
mense ladder,  now  the  shape  of  a  fantastic  castle, 
now  a  shapeless  mass,  like  a  monstrous  aerolite, 
fallen  from  a  world  destroyed  in  a  battle  of  worlds. 
Then  it  presented  gradually,  behind  a  tall  point  re- 
sembling an  Egyptian  pyramid,  a  protuberance 
as  large  as  a  mountain,  with  clefts  and  rocks 
cut  in  points  on  very  long  curves  which  were 
lost  to  the  eye  on  the  level.  It  was  night  ;  the  rock 
defined  its  dark  contours  as  clearly  and  distinctly 
against  the  moonlit  sky,  as  a  bit  of  black  paper  on 
a  pane  of  glass.  We  could  see  the  lighted  windows 
in  the  English  barracks,  the  sentinels'  boxes  on  the 
summits  of  the  aerial  cragrs,  and  some  uncertain  out- 
lines  of  trees,  that  hardly  looked  as  large  as  a  tuft 
of  grass  on  the  nearest  rocks.  For  a  long  time  it 
seemed  as  if  the  boat  were  not  movine»  or  that  the 
rock  was  following  us,  so  near  was  it  always  ;  then, 


350  SPAIN. 

little  by  little,  it  began  to  increase  in  size  ;  but  our 
eyes  grew  weary  of  gazing,  before  the  rock  did  of 
threatening^  us  with  its  fantastic  transfigurations.  At 
midnight,  I  gave  a  last  salute  to  that  formidable  dead 
sentinel  of  Europe,  and  then  crept  into  my  small 
nest. 

I  awoke  at  day-break,  a  few  miles  from  the  har- 
bor of  Malaga. 

.'  The  city  of  Malaga,  seen  from  the  port,  presents 
'an  agreeable  appearance,  not  wholly  without 
grandeur.  On  the  right  is  a  rocky  mountain, 
upon  whose  summit  and  down  one  of  whose  sides 
are  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Gibralfaro, 
famous  for  the  desperate  resistance  offered  by  the 
Moors  to  the  army  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  the 
Catholic ;  and  on  the  slopes  of  the  mountain  is  the 
cathedral,  which  rises  majestically  above  all  the  sur- 
rounding buildings,  lancing  toward  heaven,  as  a  bold 
poet  would  say,  two  beautiful  towers  and  a  very 
high  bell  tower.  Between  the  castle  and  the  church, 
and  in  front  and  on  the  sides  of  the  mountain, 
there  is  a  multitude,  or,  to  expresss  myself  a  la  Vic- 
tor Hugo,  a  canaille  of  smoky  houses,  placed  one 
above  the  other,  at  random,  as  if  they  had  been 
thrown  down  like  rocks  from  a  height.  On  the  left 
of  the  cathedral,  along  the  shore,  is  a  row  of  houses, 
ash,  violet,  and  yellowish  in  color,  with  a  white 
line  around  the  windows  and  doors,  which  remind 
one  of  the  villages  on  the  Ligurian  Riviera.  Be- 
yond lies  a  garland  of  green  and  reddish  hills,  that 
enclose  the  city  like  the  walls  of  an  amphitheatre  ;  on 
the  right  and  left,  along  the  sea-shore,  are  other 
mountains,  hills,  and  rocks,  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach.  The  harbor  is  almost  deserted,  the  sea- 
shore quiet,  and  the  sky  very  clear. 


'iilHiil/llii 


MALAGA,         .  351 

Before  landing,  I  took  leave  of  the  captain,  who 
was  to  pursue  his  journey  to  JNIarseilles  ;  bade  fare- 
well to  the  boatswain  and  passengers,  telling  them 
all  that  I  would  be  at  Valencia  on  just  the  day  the 
ship  arrived,  and  that,  therefore,  I  would  embark 
with  them  ao-ain  to  sfo  on  to  Barcelona  and  Mar- 
seilles.  The  captain  said,  "  We  shall  expect  you," 
and  the  steward  promised  to  save  a  place  for  me. 
How  many  times  since  then  have  I  remembered  the 
last  words  of  those  poor  people  ! 

I  landed  at  Malaga,  with  the  intention  of  leaving 
that  same  evening  for  Granada.  The  interior  of  the 
city  contains  nothing  of  note.  Aside  from  the  new 
part,  which  occupies  the  space  formerly  covered  by 
the  sea,  and  is  built  like  modern  places,  with  broad 
straight  streets  and  great  bare  houses,  the  rest  of 
the  city  is  a  labyrinth  of  tortuous  streets,  and  a  con- 
glomeration of  houses  without  color,  without  patios, 
without  grace.  There  are  some  spacious  squares, 
with  gardens  and  fountains,  some  columns  and  arches 
of  Arabian  edifices,  but  no  modern  monument,  much 
filth,  and  not  many  people.  The  environs  are  very 
beautiful,  and  the  climate  milder  than  Seville. 

At  Malaga  I  had  a  friend,  whom  I  looked  up,  and 
we  passed  the  day  together.  I  had  a  curious  bit  of 
information  from  him.  Here  there  is  a  literary 
academy  composed  of  more  than  eight  hundred  mem- 
bers, in  which  they  celebrate  the  anniversaries  of  all 
the  great  writers,  and  twice  a  week  there  is  a  public 
lecture  on  the  subject  of  science  or  literature.  That 
very  evening  a  solemn  festival  was  to  be  held.  Some 
months  previous,  the  Academy  had  offered  a  premium 
of  three  beautiful  gold  flowers,  enameled  in  various 
colors,  for  the  three  poets  who  should  compose  the 
best  ode  on  Progress,  the  best  romance  on  the  re- 


352  SPAIN. 

covery  of  Malaga,  together  with  the  best  satire  against 
one  of  the  commonest  vices  of  modern  civil  society. 
There  had  been  a  competition  among  all  the  poets 
of  Spain,  the  poems  had  rained  in  promiscuously, 
a  jury  had  secretly  judged  them,  and  that  same 
evening  the  verdict  was  to  be  given.  The  ceremony 
was  to  be  celebrated  with  great  pomp  ;  the  arch- 
bishop, governor,  the  commandant  of  the  navy,  the 
consuls,  and  the  most  prominent  personages  of  the 
city  in  evening  dress  and  scarfs,  and  a  great  number 
of  ladies  in  full  toilette,  were  to  take  part.  The 
three  most  beautiful  muses  of  the  city  were  to  be 
present  on  a  sort  of  stage  decked  with  flags  and 
garlands,  each  one  to  open  a  parcel  containing  the 
prize  poem,  and  proclaim  three  times  the  name  of 
the  author.  If  the  author  responded  he  was  to  be 
invited  to  read  his  verses,  and  receive  the  flower ; 
if  he  did  not  respond,  they  were  to  read  them.  In 
the  whole  city  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  Acad- 
emy. They  conjectured  the  names  of  the  winners, 
predicted  marvels  in  all  three  poems,  and  praised  the 
decoration  of  the  hall.  This  poetical  festival,  to 
which  they  give  the  name  of  jni\^os  florcales,  had 
not  been  celebrated  in  ten  years.  Others  may  judge 
whether  these  competitions  and  these  grand  prepa- 
rations are  injurious  to  poetry  and  poets.  For  my 
part,  no  matter  how  doubtful  and  fleeting  may  be 
the  literary  glory  bestowed  by  the  sentence  of  a  jury 
and  the  homage  of  a  bishop  or  a  governor,  I  think 
that  the  receipt  of  a  gift  of  a  golden  flower  from  the 
hand  of  a  beautiful  woman,  under  the  eyes  of  five 
hundred  Andalusian  women,  to  the  sound  of  sweet 
music,  and  amid  the  perfume  of  jessamines  aud  roses, 
may  be  a  keener  and  deeper  joy  than  that  which 
comes  from  real  and  lasting  glory.  No  ?  Ah  !  we 
are  sincere ! 


MALAGA.  353 

One  of  my  first  thoughts  was  to  taste  a  little 
Malaga  wine,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  compen- 
sate myself  for  the  headaches  and  colics  from  which 
I  had  suffered  in  drinking  that  wretched  mixture 
prepared  in  most  of  the  Italian  cities,  and  sold  under 
the  recommendation  of  this  name.  Whether  it  was 
that  I  did  not  know  how  to  ask,  or  they  did  not 
wish  to  understand  me,  certain  it  is  that  the  wine 
given  me  at  the  hotel  burned  me  terribly  and  went 
to  my  head.  I  could  walk  straight  to  the  cathedral, 
however,  from  thence  to  the  Castle  of  Gibralfaro, 
and  some  other  places,  and  form  an  idea  of  the 
Malaga  beauties  without  seeing  them  double  and 
tremulous,  as  evil-disposed  persons  might  fancy. 

While  we  were  walking,  my  friend  told  me  about 
the  Malaga  people,  so  famous  for  their  republican 
tendencies,  who  are  always  making  some  kind  of  a 
demonstration.  They  are  fiery,  inconstant,  but 
amiable,  like  all  people  who  feel  a  great  deal,  think 
little,  and  act  more  from  the  impulse  of  passion  than 
from  the  force  of  conviction.  A  trifle  is  sufficient  to 
collect  a  crowd  and  raise  such  a  tumult  that  the  en- 
tire city  is  upset ;  but,  generally,  a  resolute  act  from 
some  man  in  authority,  a  display  of  courage,  or  a 
flash  of  eloquence,  can  quell  the  tumult  and  disperse 
the  crowd.  The  character  of  the  people  is  good  in 
the  main,  but  superstition  and  passion  have  an  evil 
influence  upon  it.  Superstition  is  probably  more 
deeply  rooted  at  Malaga  than  in  any  other  city  in 
Andalusia,  on  account  of  the  greater  amount  of  ig- 
norance there.  Taking  it  all  in  all,  Malaga  is  the 
least  Andalusian  city  I  have  seen,  for  even  the  lan- 
guage is  corrupted  there,  as  they  speak  worse  than 
at  Cadiz,  where  they  speak  badly  enough  ! 

I  was  still   at  Malaga,  but   my  imagination  wan- 


354  SPAIN. 

dered  through  the  streets  of  Granada,  and  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Alhambra  and  GeneraHfe.  A  few 
hours  after  midday,  I  left,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  this 
was  the  only  city  in  Spain  which  I  quitted  without 
a  sigh.  When  the  train  started,  instead  of  turning 
to  salute  it  as  I  had  done  all  its  sisters,  I  murmured 
the  lines  sung  by  Giovanni  Prati,  at  Granada,  when 
the  Duke  d'Aosta  left  for  Spain  ; 

"  Non  piti  Granata  h  sola 
SuUe  sue  mute  pietre  ; 
L'  inno  in  Alhambra  vola 
Sulle  Moresche  cetre." 

("  Granada  is  no  more  alone  upon  its  mute  stones. 
The  national  hymn  flies  over  the  Alhambra,  on 
Moorish  lyres.") 

And  now,  in  rewriting  them,  I  feel  that  the  music 
of  the  National  Guard  band  at  Turin  can  better  in- 
spire joy  and  peace  than  Moorish  lyres,  and  that 
the  pavement  of  the  porticoes  of  Po  is  smoother 
and  more  even  than  the  stones  of  Granada. 


»°^^^^i©^^5^^^^ 


CHAPTER  XII. 


GRANADA. 


THE  journey  from  Malaga  to  Granada  was  the 
most  full  of  adventure  and  the   most  unfor- 
tunate one  I  took  in  Spain. 

In  order  that  the  compassionate  readers  may  pity 
me  as  much  as  I  desire,  they  must  know  (I  am  really 
ashamed  to  entertain  people  with  such  trifles)  that 
at  Malaga  I  had  only  had  a  light  Andalusian  break- 
fast, of  which,  at  the  moment  of  my  departure,  I  had 
hardly  a  confused  recollection.  But  I  started  with 
the  firm  conviction  that  I  should  be  able  to  get  out 
at  some  railway  station,  where  there  is  one  of  those 
large  rooms  (or  public  strangling  places)  into  which 
one  gallops,  eats  breathlessly,  and  pays  in  rushing 
off  to  return  to  the  crowded  carriage,  suffocated  and 
robbed,  to  curse  the  time-table,  journeys,  and  the 
minister  of  public  works  who  cheats  the  country.  I 
stprted,  and  the  first  hours  were  delightful.  The 
country  was  all  gentle  slopes  and  green  fields,  scat- 
tered with  villas,  crowned  with  pines  and  cypresses ; 
and  in  the  carriage,  between  two  old  people  who 
kept  their  eyes  closed,  there  was  a  little  Andalusian, 
who  looked  around  with  a  roguish  smile  which 
seemed  to  say :  "  Go  on,  cast  languishing  glances 
at  me!  "  The  train  moved  with  the  slowness  of  a 
broken-down  diligence,  and  we  only  stopped  a  few 

355 


35<5  SPAIAT. 

moments  at  the  stations.  At  sunset  my  stomach 
gave  signs  of  impatience,  and  to  render  the  stimulus 
of  appetite  fiercer,  I  was  obhged  to  do  a  good  bit 
of  the  road  on  foot.  The  train  stopped  before  an 
unsafe  bridge,  all  the  travellers  got  out  and  filed 
along  two  by  two  to  wait  for  the  carriages  on  the 
other  bank  of  the  river.  We  were  in  the  midst  of 
the  rocks  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  in  a  wild  deserted 
place,  which  made  us  appear  like  a  set  of  people 
held  as  hostages  by  a  band  of  brigands.  When  we 
had  climbed  into  the  carriages  again,  the  train  re- 
sumed its  former  snail's  pace,  and  my  poor  stomach 
began  to  suffer  more  than  ever.  We  arrived,  after 
a  long  time,  at  a  station  filled  with  trains,  where  the 
majority  of  the  passengers  had  rushed  out  before  I 
could  get  my  foot  on  to  the  steps. 

"  Where  do   you  wish   to  go  ?  "  one   of  the  rail- 
road officials  asked  me,  seeing  me  descend. 
"  To  dine,"  I  replied. 
"  But  you  are  going  to  Granada?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  If  that  's  the  case  you  have  no  time  ;  the  train 
starts  instantly." 

"  But  the  others  have  gone  out." 
"  You  will  see  them  come  running  back  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

The  freight  trains  which  were  ahead  of  us  pre- 
vented me  from  seeing  the  station  ;  I  thought  it  was 
at  quite  a  distance,  so  I  did  not  stir.  Two  minutes 
passed,  five,  eight,  the  travellers  do  not  return,  and 
the  train  does  not  move.  I  jump  down,  run  to  the 
station,  see  a  cafe,  enter  an  immense  room.  Ye 
heavenly  powers  !  Fifty  famished  people  were  stand- 
ing round  a  refreshment  table,  their  noses  buried  in 
their  plates,  elbows  in   the   air,  with   their  eyes  on 


G KAN  AD  A.  357 

their  watches,  devouring  and  shouting ;  another 
fifty  were  pushing  each  around  the  counter,  seizing 
and  pocketing  bread,  fruit,  and  candies,  while  the 
owner  and  waiters,  breathless  as  horses,  reeking 
with  perspiration,  ran,  worked  as  hard  as  they  could, 
shrieked,  stumbled  over  the  chairs,  knocked  into 
the  purchasers,  and  threw  spurts  of  sauce  and 
bouillon  here  and  there.  One  poor  woman,  who 
must  have  been  the  mistress  of  the  cafe,  was  a 
prisoner  in  a  little  niche  behind  the  besieged  coun- 
ter, and  ran  her  hands  through  her  hair  in  sign  of 
despair.  At  this  sight  my  courage  failed.  But  I 
instantly  ga,thered  strength  and  joined  in  the  sack- 
ing. Repulsed  by  one  elbow,  I  dashed  forward 
again  ;  thrown  back  by  a  blow  in  the  stomach,  I  sum- 
moned all  my  courage  for  a  third  assault.  At  that 
moment  the  bell  rang.  There  was  a  burst  of  im- 
precations, then  a  falling  of  chairs,  a  smashing  of 
plates,  a  crash,  a  perfect  pandemonium.  One  per- 
son, in  swallowing  in  haste  the  last  mouthful,  be- 
came livid,  and  his  eyes  started  out  of  their  sockets, 
like  those  of  a  man  being  hanged  ;  another,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  to  seize  an  orange,  hit  by  a  person 
who  was  hurrying  off,  dived  into  a  pot  of  cream ;  a 
third  roamed  around  the  room  in  search  of  his 
valise  with  a  dash  of  gravy  on  his  cheek  ;  another 
who,  having  wished  to  drink  without  breathing, 
choked  with  the  wine  and  began  coughing  violently; 
and  the  officials  at  the  door  shouted:  Quick !  and 
the  travellers  in  the  cafe  replied  :  Ahogate !  (suf- 
focated !).  The  poor  waiters  pursued  those  who  had 
not  paid  ;  the  ladies  fainted,  those  who  wished  to 
pay  did  not  find  the  waiters  ;  the  children  shrieked, 
and  every  thing  was  in  confusion. 

I  was  fortunate  in  being  able  to  get  into  the  train 
before  it  started. 


358  SPAIN: 

But  there  a  fresh  misery  was  awaiting-  me.  The 
two  old  men  and  the  Httle  Andakisian,  who  must 
have  been  the  daughter  of  one  and  niece  of  the 
other,  had  succeeded  in  getting  something  in  the 
midst  of  that  frightful  crowd  around  the  counter,  and 
they  were  eating  as  hard  as  they  could.  I  began 
looking  at  them  with  a  melancholy  expression  of 
face,  counting  the  mouthfuls,  as  a  dog  does  at  his 
master's  table.  The  young  girl  noticed  this,  and 
showing  me  something  that  looked  like  a  croquette, 
wnth  a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head,  asked  me 
if  I  would  have  some  of  it. 

"  Oh,  no,  thanks!  "  I  replied  with  the  smile  of  a 
dying  man,  "  I  have  been  eating." 

"My  angel,"  I  instantly  said  to  myself,  "if  you  knew 
that  at  this  moment  I  would  prefer  your  croquettes 
to  the  sour  apples,  as  Messer  Niccolo  Macchiavelli 
nobly  says,  gathered  in  the  famous  gardens  of  the 
Hesperides  !  " 

'*  Try  a  swallow  of  liqueur  at  least !  "  said  the 
uncle. 

I  do  not  know  from  what  childish  pique  against 
myself  or  those  good  people,  but  it  was  a  pique 
even  men  experience  on  similar  occasions,  I  re- 
plied this  time  too  : 

"  No,  thank  you,  it  would  hurt  me  !  " 

The  good  old  man  looked  at  me  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  air  of  saying  that  I  did  not  seem  to 
him  like  a  man  to  suffer  from  a  drop  of  spirits,  the 
Andalusian  smiled,  and  I  became  crimson  from  mor- 
tification. 

Night  came  on,  and  the  train  continued  at  the 
pace  of  Sancho  Panza's  steed  for  I  know  not  how 
many  hours.  That  evening,  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
I    experienced   the  torments    of    hunger,    which  I 


GRANADA.  359 

thought  I  had  already  felt  during  the  famous  day  of 
the  24th  of  June,  1866.  To  alleviate  these  tortures, 
I  persistently  thought  of  all  the  dishes  which  I  dis- 
liked, raw  tomatoes,  snails  in  soup,  roasted  crabs, 
and  slugs  in  salad.  Alas!  a  derisive  voice  cried  out 
from  my  vitals  that  if  I  had  any  of  them  I  would 
have  licked  my  fingers  afterward.  Then  I  began  to 
make  an  imaginary  mixture  of  horrid  dishes,  like 
cream  and  fish,  sprinkled  with  wine,  a  handful  of 
pepper,  and  a  layer  of  juniper  preserves,  to  see  if  I 
could  keep  my  stomach  in  order.  Oh,  unfortunate 
man !  The  cowardly  stomach  did  not  even  repel 
that  mess.  Then  I  made  a  last  effort,  and  im- 
agined being  at  table  in  a  hotel  at  Paris,  during  the 
time  of  the  seige,  and  of  raising  by  his  tail,  from 
some  sauce  piquante,  a  small  mouse,  which,  sudden- 
ly regaining  life,  bit  my  thumb,  and  fixed  two  en- 
raged little  eyes  upon  me,  and  myself,  with  my  raised 
fork,  either  in  doubt  as  to  whether  I  should  let  him 
go  or  run  him  through  the  body  without  any  pity. 
But,  thank  the  Lord,  before  I  made  that  horrible  de- 
cision as  to  Avhether  I  should  do  a  thing  the  equal 
of  which  was  never  met  with  in  the  history  of  the 
beseiged,  the  train  stopped,  and  a  ray  of  hope  re- 
vived my  weary  spirits. 

We  had  arrived  at  some  unknown  village.  While 
I  was  putting  my  head  out  of  the  window  a  voice 
shouted  : 

"  Those  going  to  Granada  must  get  out!  " 
I  jumped  down  from  the  carriage,  and  found  my- 
self facing  a  tall,  bearded  man,  who  took  my  valise 
out  of  my  hand,  saying  that  he  was  going  to  put  it 
on  the  diligence,  because  from  that  village  to  I  know 
not  how  many  miles  from  the  impe^Hal  Granada 
there  is  no  railway. 


360  SPAIN. 

"  One  moment !  "  I  cried,  in  a  supplicating  voice, 
to  the  unknown.     "  How  long-  before  we  start  ?  " 

'  Two  minutes!  "  he  replied. 

"  Is  there  an  inn  here  ?  " 

"  Over  there." 

I  rushed  to  the  inn,  swallowed  a  hard-boiled  ^%^, 
and  dashed  off  toward  the  diligence,  saying  : 

"  How  much  time  is  there  now  ?  " 

"  Two  minutes  more !  "  replied  the  same  voice  as 
before. 

I  returned  to  the  inn,  despatched  another  ^%%^ 
and  ran  back  to  the  diligence,  asking  again  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  start  ?  " 

"  In  a  moment !  " 

Back  to  the  inn  again,  a  third  ^'g%,  and  then  to  the 
diligence  : 

"  Are  we  going  ?  " 

"In  half  a  minute  !  " 

This  time  I  drew  a  long  breath,  ran  back  to  the 
inn,  swallowed  a  fourth  ^^^  and  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
dashed  toward  the  diligence.  But  hardly  had  I  gone 
ten  steps  when  I  felt  my  breath  failing,  and  I  stopped, 
with  the  &^^  half-way  down  my  throat.  At  this 
point  the  whip  cracked. 

"  Wait !  "  I  shrieked  in  a  gasping  voice,  waving 
my  hands  like  a  drowning  man. 

"  What  's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  driver. 

I  could  not  reply. 

"  He  has  an  Q.<g^  half-way  down  his  throat,"  re- 
plied some  unknown  person  for  me. 

All  the  travellers  burst  out  into  a  lausfh,  the  e9"R 
went  down,  I  laughed  too,  caught  up  with  tne  iili 
gence,  which  started  instantly,  and  when  I  got  my 
breath,  I   related   my  tale   of  woe  to   my  travelling 
companions,  who  were  more  amused  and  filled  with 


GRANADA.  36 1 

pity  by  it  than  I  had  dared  hope,  after  that  cruel 
laug'h  at  my  strano-ulation. 

But  my  troubles  were  not  at  an  end.  One  of  those 
irresistible  attacks  of  drowsiness,  which  used  to  seize 
me  during  those  long  nocturnal  marches  with  the 
soldiers,  suddenly  took  possession  of  me,  and  tor- 
mented me  until  we  reached  the  railway  station, 
without  my  being  able  to  sleep  for  a  moment.  I 
fancy  that  a  cannon  ball,  suspended  by  a  cord  from 
the  roof  of  the  diligence,  would  have  caused  less  an- 
noyance to  my  unfortunate  fellow-travellers,  than  did 
my  poor  head,  swinging  on  all  sides,  as  it  did,  as  if 
only  fastened  to  the  neck  by  one  nerve. 

I  had,  on  one  side  a  nun,  on  the  other  a  boy,  in 
front  of  me  a  peasant,  and  throughout  all  that  trip  I 
did  nothing  but  thump  those  three  victims  with  my 
head,  with  the  monotonous  vibration  of  the  tongue 
of  a  bell.  The  nun,  poor  creature,  allowed  me  to 
hit  her,  and  was  silent,  perhaps  in  expiation  of  her 
sins  of  thought  ;  but  the  boy  and  the  peasant  woman 
muttered,  from  time  to  time  :  "  He  is  a  barbarian  !  " 
"  This  can't  go  on  !  "  "  His  head  is  like  lead !  " 
Finally,  a  joke  of  one  of  the  travellers  liberated  all 
four  of  us  from  that  torture.  The  peasant  having 
complained  a  little  louder  than  usual,  a  voice  at  the 
end  of  the  diligence  exclaimed  : 

"  Console  yourself!  If  he  has  not  broken  your 
head  by  this  time,  you  may  rest  assured  that  he 
won't  do  so  ;  for  it  will  be  a  sign  that  it  could  stand 
the  blow  of  a  hammer !  " 

Every  one  laughed  ;  I  waked,  and  asked  their 
pardon,  and  the  three  victims  were  so  content  to 
find  themselves  freed  from  that  everlastine  knocking, 
that  instead  of  revenging  themselves  with  bitter 
words  they  said  : 


3^2  SPAIN. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  You  have  slept  very  badly  !  You 
must  have  hurt  your  head  !  " 

We  finally  reached  the  railway  ;  and,  behold  the 
irony  of  fate !  alone  though  I  was  in  the  carriage, 
where  I  could  have  slept  like  a  sultan,  I  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  closing  my  eyes.  I  felt  the  deepest  regret 
when  I  thought  that  I  had  taken  that  journey  by 
night,  and  that  I  had  not  seen  any  thing,  and  should 
not  be  able  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  Granada  in  the 
distance  !  And  the  sweet  verses  of  Martinez  de  la 
Rosa  passed  through  my  mind  : 

"  O  beloved  country !  I  see  thee  at  last  once 
more  !  I  see  again  thy  beauteous  soil,  thy  fertile 
and  joyous  fields,  thy  splendid  sun,  thy  quiet  sky  ! 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  see  the  famous  Granada  extend  along 
the  plain  from  hill  to  hill  ;  her  towers  rise  amid 
eternally  verdant  gardens  ;  her  crystal  streams  kiss- 
ing her  walls  ;  the  superb  mountains  surrounding 
her  valleys,  and  the  Sierra  Nevada  crowning  the 
distant  horizons ! 

"  Oh  !  the  recollection  of  thee  followed  me  on 
every  side,  Granada!  disturbed  my  pleasures,  my 
peace,  my  glory,  and  my  oppressed  soul  and  heart ! 
On  the  frozen  banks  of  the  Seine  and  Thames  I  re- 
membered the  pleasant  borders  of  the  Darro  and 
Xenil,  and  sighed !  Very  often,  and  in  humming  a 
joyful  ballad,  my  pain  became  bitter,  and  the  ill- 
suppressed  tears  choked  my  voice  ! 

"In  vain  the  delightful  Arno  offered  me  her  banks, 
enamelled  v/ith  flowers,  the  asylum  of  love  and 
peace.  The  plain  watered  by  the  quiet  Xenil,"  I 
said,  "  is  more  flowery  still !  The  sojourn  in  beauti- 
ful Granada  is  dearer  to  me ! "  and  I  murmured 
these  words  in  disconsolate  accents,  and,  remember- 
ing the  home  of  my  fathers,  I  raised  my  melancholy 
eyes  to  heaven  : 


1 


GRANADA.  363 

"  What  is  thy  magic,  thy  ineffable  charm,  O 
country,  O  sweet  name  so  dear  to  us  !  The  African, 
far  away  from  his  native  desert,  looks  with  sorrow- 
ing disdain  on  verdant  fields  ;  the  rough  Laplander, 
torn  from  his  maternal  soil,  sighs  for  the  perpetual 
night  and  perpetual  ice  ;  and  I,  I  to  whom  a  benevo- 
lent fate  orranted  the  favor  of  beinof  born  and  orrow- 
ing  up  in  thy  blessed  bosom,  blessed  by  so  many 
gifts  from  God,  I,  far  from  thee,  could  I  forget  thee, 
Granada?  " 

When  I  reached  Granada,  it  was  very  dark,  and 
not  the  outline  of  a  house  was  to  be  seen.  A  dili- 
gence, drawn  by  two  horses 

" anzi  due  cavallette 

Di  quelle  di  Mose  la  dell'  Egitto  " 

landed  me  at  a  hotel,  where  I  w^as  obliged  to  wait 
an  hour  for  a  bed  to  be  made,  and,  finally,  after  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  was  able  to  lay  my  head 
on  a  pillow.  But  my  misfortunes  were  not  at  an 
end.  When  I  began  to  cloze,  I  heard  an  indistinct 
murmur  in  the  neighboring  room,  and  then  a  mas- 
culine voice  which  said  quite  clearly  :  "  Oh,  what  a 
little  foot!  "  Any  one  with  bowels  of  compassion 
may  judge  of  the  effect  !  The  pillow  was  slightly 
ripped,  I  drew  out  two  bits  of  wool,  stuck  them  into 
my  ears,  and  going  over  my  journey  in  thought,  I 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

The  following  morning  I  went  out  betimes,  and 
roamed  around  the  streets  of  Granada,  until  a  re- 
spectable hour  arrived  for  me  to  go  and  drag  out  of 
his  house  a  young  Granadine,  whom  I  had  known 
at  Madrid,  in  the  house  of  Fernandez  Guerra,  Gon- 
gora  by  name,  the  son  of  an  illustrious  archeologist 


364  SPAIN. 


and  descendant  of  the  famous  poet  of  Cordova,  Louis 
Gongora,  of  whom  I  have  said  a  Httle.  The  portion 
of  the  city  which  I  saw  during  those  few  hours  did 
not  come  up  to  my  expectations.  I  fancied  I  should 
find  mysterious  little  streets  and  small  white  houses, 
as  at  Cordova  and  Seville ;  I  found,  on  the  contrary, 
spacious  squares,  some  beautiful  straight  streets,  and 
the  others  tortuous  and  narrow,  it  is  true,  but  lined 
with  high  houses,  painted  in  imitation  bas-reliefs, 
with  cupids,  garlands,  bits  of  curtain,  and  veils  of  a 
thousand  colors,  without  that  oriental  aspect  pecu- 
liar to  the  other  Andalusian  cities.  The  lowest  part 
of  Granada  is  almost  entirelv  built  with  the  regular- 
ity  of  a  modern  city.  Passing  through  those  streets, 
I  was  seized  with  a  feeling  of  disdain,  and  should 
certainly  have  carried  to  Signor  Gongora  a  clouded 
face,  if,  by  chance,  in  that  careless  roaming  about,  I 
had  not  come  out  upon  the  famous  Alameda,  which 
enjoys  the  reputation  of  being  the  most  beautiful 
promenade  in  the  world,  and  which  compensated 
me  a  thousand  tijnes  for  the  odious  regularity  of  the 
streets  that  lead  to  it. 

Let  my  reader  imagine  a  long  avenue  of  extraor- 
dinary width,  through  which  fifty  carriages  in  line 
could  pass,  flanked  by  minor  avenues,  along  which 
run  rows  of  immense  trees,  that  form  at  a  great 
height  an  enormous  arch  of  verdure,  so  thick  that 
not  a  ray  of  sunshine  can  penetrate  it  ;  and,  at  the 
extremities  of  the  middle  avenue,  two  fountains, 
which  throw  up  water  in  large  streams,  that  fall 
again  in  a  fine  vaporous  rain;  and,  between  the  ave- 
nues, crystalline  springs;  and,  in  the  centre,  a  garden 
filled  with  roses,  myrtle,  jessamine,  and  sprays  of 
water.  On  one  side,  the  river  Xenil,  M^hich  flows 
between  two  banks  shaded  by  groves  of  laurel,  and. 


GRANADA.  365 

far  away,  the  mountains  covered  with  snow,  upon 
which  the  distant  palms  rear  their  fantastic  heads  ; 
and,  all  about,  a  vivid  green,  very  thick  and  luxur- 
iant, which  allows  one  to  catch  a  glimpse  here  and 
there  of  a  strip  of  blue  sky  that  is  bewitching. 

Returning  from  the  Alameda,  I  met  a  great  num- 
ber of  peasants  who  were  coming  from  the  city,  two 
by  two,  and  in  troops,  with  their  wives  and  children, 
singing  and  joking.  Their  costume  did  not  appear 
to  me  different  from  that  of  the  peasants  about  Cor- 
dova and  Seville.  They  wore  velvet  hats,  some 
with  large  brims,  others  with  high  brims  turned 
back  ;  a  jacket  made  of  strips  of  various-colored 
cloth  ;  a  red  or  blue  sash  ;  tight  breeches,  buttoned 
down  the  sides  ;  and  a  pair  of  leather  gaiters,  open 
on  one  side  so  that  the  leg  could  be  seen.  The 
women  were  dressed  as  in  the  other  provinces,  and 
there  was  no  noticeable  difference  even  in  their 
faces. 

I  went  to  the  house  of  my  friend,  found  him 
buried  in  his  archeological  studies,  before  a  pile  of 
old  medals  and  historical  stones.  He  received  me 
with  joy  and  a  charming  Andalusian  courtesy.  Af- 
ter havino"  exchangfed  the  first  orreetinors,  we  both 
pronounced  in  one  voice  that  magical  word,  which 
in  every  portion  of  the  world  awakens  in  every  soul 
a  tumult  of  erand  recollections  and  a  feeline  of  se- 
cret  desire  ;  that  gives  the  last  impulse  toward 
Spain  to  any  one  who  has  conceived  the  idea  of 
travelling  and  not  yet  arrived  at  the  determination 
of  starting  ;  which  makes  the  hearts  of  poets  and 
painters  beat,  and  the  eyes  of  women  glisten — the 
Alhambra! 

We  rushed  out  of  the  house, 
^^he  Alhambra  is   situated   on  a  high   hill  which 


366  SPAIN. 

dominates  the  city,  and  presents,  from  a  distance, 
the  appearance  of  a  fortress,  like  almost  all  the  ori- 
ental palaces.  But  when  I  started  with  Gongora 
through  the  street  of  los  Gomclcs,  to  visit  that  famous 
castle,  I  had  not  yet  seen  its  walls  even  from  afar, 
and  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  tell  in  what 
part  of  the  cit)'  it  stood.  The  street  of  los  Gomeles 
rises  gradually  and  describes  a  slight  curve,  so  that, 
for  quite  a  way,  one  sees  nothing  before  him  but 
houses,  and  may  fancy  that  the  Alhambra  is  still 
distant.  Gongora  did  not  speak  ;  but  I  saw  by  his 
face  that  he  was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  thought  of 
the  delight  and  surprise  which  I  should  experience. 
He  looked  smilingly  at  the  ground,  replied  to  all 
questions  with  a  sign  that  seemed  to  say  :  "In  a 
moment,"'  and  from  time  to  time  raised  his  eyes 
almost  furtively  to  measure  the  road  which  lay  be- 
fore us.  And  I  so  enjoyed  his  pleasure  that  I  could 
have  thrown  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  thanked 
him. 

We  arrived  before  a  grreat  o-ate  that  shut  in  the 
street ;  Gongora  said  to  me  :  "  Here  we  are  ;" — I 
entered. 

I  found  myself  in  a  large  grove  of  trees  of  an  im- 
mense heiofht,  inclininof  toward  each  other  on  either 
side  of  a  broad  avenue,  which  ascends  the  hill  and 
is  lost  in  the  shade.  They  are  so  thick  that  a  man 
could  scarcely  pass  between  them,  and  in  whichever 
direction  one  looks,  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  trunks 
which  shut  in  the  road  like  a  continuous  wall.  The 
boughs  of  the  trees  cross  above  the  avenue  ;  in  the 
grove,  not  a  ray  of  sun  penetrates,  the  shade  is  very 
dense  ;  and  on  every  side  rivulets  murmur,  night- 
ingales sing,  and  a  spring-like  freshness  is  felt. 

"  We  are   already  in   the  Alhambra,"  said   Gon- 


GRANADA.  367 

gora  to  me;  "  turn   around    and   you  will   see   the 
towers  and  embattled  walls  of  the  boundary." 

"  But  where  is  the  palace  ?  "  I  asked. 

"That  is  a  mystery,"  he  replied;  "  let  us  go  on 
at  random." 

We  climbed  an  avenue  which  runs  alono-  the  ereat 
middle  boulevard,  and  winds  up  toward  the  summit 
of  the  hill.  The  trees  form  a  pavilion  of  verdure 
over  it,  so  that  not  a  bit  of  the  sky  is  to  be  seen, 
and  the  grass,  bushes,  and  flowers  make  on  the 
sides  two  light  espaliers,  variegated  and  odorous, 
slightly  inclined  toward  each  other  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  unite,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  their 
colorino^  and  the  softness  of  their  frag^rance. 

"  Let  us  stop  for  a  moment,"  I  said  ;  "  I  wish  to 
take  a  full  breath  of  this  air ;  it  seems  as  if  it  con- 
tained some  mysterious  germs  which,  infused  into 
the  blood,  would  prolong  life  ;  it  is  air  that  breathes 
of  youth  and  health  !  " 

"  Here  is  the  door,"  exclaimed  Gongora. 

I  turned  as  if  I  had  been  struck,  and  saw,  a  few 
steps  before  us,  a  large  square  tower,  dark  in  color, 
crowned  with  battlements,  and  having  an  arched 
door,  above  which  one  sees  a  chiseled  key  and 
hand. 
r  I  questioned  my  friend  about  it,  and  he  said  it  was 
I  the  principal  entrance  of  the  Alhambra,  and  was 
called  the  Door  of  Justice,  because  under  that  arch 
the  Arab  kings  used  to  pronounce  their  sentences. 
The  key  signifies  that  that  door  is  the  key  to  the 
fortress,  and  the  hand  is  a  symbol  of  the  five  princi- 
pal precepts  of  Islam  :  Prayer,  Fasting,  Benevo- 
lence, Holy  War,  and  Pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  An 
Arabic  inscription  testifies  that  the  edifice  was  con- 
structed four  centuries  ago   by  Abul  Hagag  Yusuf, 


3^8  SPAIN. 

and  another,  that  one  reads  at  the  same  time  on  the 
columns,  says  :  "  There  is  no  God  but  Allah  ;  and 
Mahomet  is  his  prophet !  There  is  no  power  nor 
strength  aside  from  Allah  !  " 

We  passed  under  the  gateway  and  continued  to 
climb  an  embanked  road,  until  we  found  ourselves 
at  the  summit  of  the  hill  in  the  middle  of  the  level 
enclosure  of  a  parapet  scattered  with  plants  and 
flowers.  I  instantly  turned  toward  the  valley  to  en- 
joy the  view  ;  but  Gongora  seized  me  by  the  arm 
and  made  me  look  on  the  opposite  side.  I  was 
facing  a  great  palace  in  the  style  of  the  Renaissance, 
half  in  ruins,  and  flanked  by  some  miserable-look- 
ing little  houses. 

"  What  joke  is  this?"  I  asked;  "  you  bring  me 
here  to  see  an  Arabian  castle,  and  I  find  my  road 
blocked  by  a  modern  palace  ?  Who  conceived  the 
disgraceful  idea  of  erecting  that  edifice  in  the  centre 
of  the  garden  of  the  city  ?  " 

"  Charles,  the  Fifth." 

"  He  was  a  vandal — I  have  not  yet  pardoned  him 
for  that  Gothic  church  planted  in  the  middle  of  the 
mosque  at  Cordova  ;  and  now  this  barracks  makes 
me  hate  his  crown  and  his  glory.  But  where  in  the 
name  of  heaven  is  the  Alhambra  }  " 

"  It  is  there." 

'•  Where,  there  }  " 

"  Among  those  wretched  houses." 

"  Oh,  come  now!  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor." 

I  folded  my  arms  and  looked  at  him  ;  he  laughed. 

"  Well,  then,  this  great  name  of  Alhambra  is  only 
one  of  the  usual  charlatan-like  hyperboles  of  poets. 
1,  Europe,  the  world  at  large,  have  all  been  ridicu- 
lously fooled !     Was    it  worth  dreaming  of  the  Al- 


GRANADA.  369 

hambra  for  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  nights  in 
succession,  to  come  and  see  a  group  of  deserted 
hovels  with  some  broken  cohmins  in  their  midst, 
and  some  dingy  inscriptions  ?  " 

"  How  much  I  am  enjoying  this !  "  repHed  Gon- 
gora,  bursting  out  into  a  laugh.  "  Cheer  up  and  come 
and  persuade  yourself  that  the  world  has  not  been 
fooled.     We  will  go  into  the  hovels." 

We  entered  by  a  little  door,  crossed  a  corridor, 
and  found  ourselves  in  a  courtyard.  I  seized  Gon- 
gora's  hand  with  a  sudden  bound,  and  he  asked  me 
in  a  tone  of  triumph  : 

"  Are  you  persuaded  ? " 

I  made  no  reply,  I  did  not  see  him,  I  was  already 
far  away  from  him  ;  the  Alhambra  had  already  be- 
gun to  exercise  upon  me  that  deep  and  mysterious 
fascination  from  which  none  escape,  and  which  no 
one  is  able  to  explain. 

We  were  in  the  patio  de  los  Arrayanes  (court  of  the 
myrtles),  which  is  the  largest  in  the  building,  and 
presents  at  once  the  appearance  of  a  hall,  courtyard, 
and  garden.  A  large  basin  of  rectangular  form, 
filled  with  water,  surrounded  by  a  hedge  of  myrtle, 
extends  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  l\\^  patio,  and 
reflects,  like  a  mirror,  the  arches,  arabesques,  and  in- 
scriptions upon  the  walls.  On  the  right  of  the  en- 
trance stretch  out  two  rows,  one  above  the  other,  of 
Moorish  arches,  upheld  by  light  columns  ;  and  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  court  rises  a  tower,  with  a 
door,  through  which  one  sees  the  inner  semi-obscure 
halls  and  the  twin  windows,  and  beyond  the  win- 
dows, the  blue  sky  and  the  summits  of  the  distant 
mountains.  The  walls  are  ornamented,  to  a  cer- 
tain height  from  the  ground,  with  superb  mosaics, 
and  from  the  mosaics  up,  they  are  arabesqued  in  a 


37^  SPAIN. 

very  fine  design,  which  seems  to  tremble  and  change 
at  every  step,  and  here  and  there,  between  the  ara- 
besques and  along  the  arches  extend,  twist,  and  in- 
terlace like  garlands,  Arabic  inscriptions,  which  in- 
clude salutations,  sentences,  and  legends. 

Near  the  door  of  entrance  is  written  in  large 
characters:  "Eternal  salvation!  Benediction!  Pros- 
perity ! — Felicity  ! — Praised  be  God  for  the  benefit 
of  Islam!  " 

At  another  point  is  written  :  "I  seek  my  refuge 
in  the  Lord  of  the  Morning," — elsewhere  :  "  O  God  ! 
To  Thee  we  owe  everlasting  thanks  and  undying 
praises !  " 

In  other  places  are  verses  from  the  Koran,  and 
entire  poems  in  praise  of  the  caliphs. 

We  remained  for  some  moments  looking  around 
us  without  openmg  our  mouths  ;  not  the  buzzing 
of  a  fly  was  heard.  From  time  to  time  Gongora 
made  a  move  toward  the  tower,  and  I,  holding 
him  by  the  arm  lelt  that  he  was  trembling  with 
impatience. 

"  But  we  must  hurry,"  he  finally  said,  "  else  we 
shall  not  get  back  to  Granada  until  evening." 

"  What    do    I     care    for    Granada !  "    I    replied 
"  what  do  I  care  about  evening,  morning,  or  myself 
I  am  in  the  East !  " 

"  But  you  are  only  in  the  antechamber  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  my  dear  Arab,"  said  Gongora,  pushing  me 
forward  ;  "  come,  come  with  me  where  it  will  seen-* 
more  like  being  in  the  East  than  even  here  !  " 

And  he  led  me,  reluctantly,  to  the  sill  of  the  towei 
door.  There  I  turned  to  look  once  more  on  the 
court  of  the  myrtles,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 
Between  the  little  columns  of  that  arched  gallery 
which  faces  the  tower,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 


GRANADA.  3/1 

court,  was  a  girl  with  a  beautiful  dark  Andaluslan 
face,  and  a  white  mantle  wrapped  around  her  head 
and  falling  over  her  shoulders.  She  stood,  leaning 
on  the  parapet  in  a  melancholy  attitude,  with  her 
eyes  fastened  upon  us.  I  cannot  describe  the  fan- 
tastic effect  which  that  figure  produced  at  that 
moment  ;  the  grace  that  it  received  from  the  arches 
which  curved  over  the  head,  and  from  the  two 
columns  that  formed  a  frame,  and  the  beautiful  har- 
mony that  it  gave  to  all  the  court,  almost  as  if  it 
were  a  necessary  ornament  to  that  architecture,  con- 
ceived by  the  brain  of  the  architect  when  he  designed 
the  whole.  She  appeared  like  a  sultana  who  was 
waiting  for  her  lord,  thinking  of  another  sky  and  an- 
other love.  And  she  continued  to  watch  us  ;  my 
heart  began  beating,  and  I  questioned  my  friend 
with  my  eyes,  so  as  to  assure  myself  that  I  was  not 
dreaming.  Suddenly  the  sultana  laughed,  dropped 
her  white  mantle,  and  disappeared. 

"  She  is  a  servant,"  said  Gongora. 

I  remained  puzzled. 

It  was  in  fact  a  servant  of  the  administrator  of  the 
Alhambra,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  playing  that  trick 
upon  strangers. 

We  entered  the  tower,  called  the  tower  of  Comares, 
or   vulgarly   of  the   Ambassadors. 

The  interior  of  the  tower  forms  two  halls,  the  first  of 
which  is  called  the  hall  of  the  boat,  some  say  because 
it  is  boat-shaped,  and  some  because  it  was  called  by 
the  Arabs  Hall  of  the  Baraka,  or  benediction,  which 
word  might  have  been  perverted  by  the  ignorant 
into  that  of  barca  (boat).  This  hall  does  not  seem 
like  human  work  :  it  is  all  an  enormous  tracery  of 
embroideries  in  the  form  of  garlands,  roses,  branches, 
and   leaves,    which    cover   the    ceiling,    arches,  and 


372  SPAIN. 

walls  on  every  side,  and  in  every  way,  closely 
twisted,  interlaced,  and  placed  one  above  the  other, 
yet  marvellously  distinct,  and  combined  in  such  a 
manner  that  they  are  all  seen  at  once  at  a  single 
glance,  and  present  an  appearance  of  magnificence 
that  dazzles,  and  a  grace  that  fascinates  one.  I  ap- 
proached one  of  the  walls,  fixed  my  eyes  on  the 
farthest  point  of  an  arabesque,  and  tried  to  follow 
its  twists  and  turns  on  the  wall  ;  the  eye  loses  itself, 
the  mind  becomes  disturbed,  and  all  the  arabesques 
from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling  seem  to  move  and 
mingle,  to  make  you  lose  the  thread  of  their  inex- 
tricable network.  You  may  make  every  effort  not  to 
look  around,  fix  all  your  attention  on  only  one  span 
of  the  wall,  put  your  face  to  it,  and  follow  the  thread 
with  your  finger  :  it  is  useless  ;  after  a  moment  the 
embroideries  grow  mixed,  a  veil  stretches  out  be- 
tween you  and  the  wall,  and  your  arm  falls.  The 
wall  seems  woven  like  a  cloth,  is  rich  as  a  brocade, 
transparent  as  lace,  and  veined  like  a  leaf;  you  can- 
not look  at  it  closely,  cannot  remember  the  designs  ; 
it  would  be  like  wishing  to  count  the  ants  in  an  ant- 
hill ;  you  must  be  contented  with  giving  a  vague 
glance  at  the  walls  ;  then  rest,  look  again,  and  rest- 
ing, think  of  something  else,  and  talk.  After  having 
gazed  around  a  little  with  the  air  of  a  man  seized 
with  a  vertigo  rather  than  a  feeling  of  admiration,  I 
turned  toward  Gongora  so  that  he  might  read  in 
my  face  what  I  wished  to  say  to  him. 

"  Let  us  enter  the  other  deserted  place,"  he  re- 
plied, smiling,  and  he  pushed  me  into  the  great  Hall 
of  the  Ambassadors,  which  occupies  the  entire  interior 
of  the  tower,  because  the  hall  of  the  Barca  really  be- 
longs to  a  small  building  which,  although  joined  to 
the  tower,  actually  forms  no  part  of  it.     The  hall  is 


GRANADA.  373 

square  in  shape,  spacious,  and  lighted  by  nine  large 
arched  windows  in  the  form  of  doors,  which  present 
almost  the  appearance  of  so  many  alcoves,  so  thick 
are  the  walls  ;  and  each  one  is  divided  in  half,  toward 
the  outside,  by  a  little  marble  column  which  supports 
two  elegant  small  arches,  surmounted  in  their  turn 
by  two  little  arched  windows.  The  walls  are  covered 
with  mosaics  and  arabesques  multiform  and  in- 
describably delicate,  with  innumerable  inscriptions 
which  extend  in  the  form  of  broad  embroidered  rib- 
bons over  the  arches  of  the  windows,  up  the  corners, 
along  the  friezes,  and  around  the  niches,  in  which 
vases  filled  with  flowers  and  perfumed  water  were 
placed.  The  ceiling,  which  is  very  high,  is  com- 
posed of  pieces  of  cedar  wood,  white,  gilded,  and 
blue,  put  together  in  the  shape  of  circles,  stars,  and 
crowns  ;  and  forms  so  many  little  ceilings,  cells,  and 
small  windows,  through  a  hundred  of  wdiich  falls  a 
soft  light  ;  and  from  the  cornice  that  joins  the  ceiling 
to  the  walls,  hung  pieces  of  stucco  worked  and  em- 
broidered like  stalactites  and  bunches  of  flowers. 
The  throne  was  placed  in  a  window  opposite  the  en- 
trance. From  the  windows  of  this  side  one  enjoys 
a  magnificent  view  of  the  valley  of  the  Darro,  deep 
and  silent,  as  if  it,  too,  felt  the  fascination  of  the 
majesty  of  the  Alhambra  ;  from  the  windows  of  the 
other  two  sides  are  seen  the  boundary  walls  and  the 
towers  of  the  fortress,  and  from  the  side  of  the  en- 
trance, in  the  distance,  the  light  arches  of  the  Court 
of  the  Myrtles,  and  the  waters  of  the  basin,  which 
reflect  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

"  Well,"  asked  Gongora,  "  was  it  worth  the 
trouble  of  dreaming  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
nights  a;bout  the  Alhambra  ?  " 

"  It   is   strange,"     I    replied,     "  what    is   passmg 


374  SPAIN. 

through  my  mind  at  this  moment.  That  court,  as 
we  see  it  from  here,  this  hall,  these  windows,  these 
colors,  all  that  surrounds  me,  does  not  appear  new 
to  me  ;  it  seems  as  if  it  corresponded  with  an  idea 
I  had  in  my  head,  for  I  do  not  know  how  long, 
confused  among  a  thousand  others,  perhaps  born 
of  a  dream,  who  knows  ?  When  I  was  sixteen 
I  was  in  love,  and  that  child  and  I,  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes  when  alone  in  a  garden  under  the  shade 
of  a  hut,  uttered  involuntarily  a  cry  of  joy,  which  ex- 
cited us  as  if  it  had  issued  from  the  mouth  of  a  third 
person  who  had  discovered  our  secret.  Well,  then 
I  often  desired  to  be  a  king  and  have  a  palace  ;  yet, 
in  giving  form  to  that  desire  my  imagination  never 
stopped  at  the  gilded  palaces  of  our  countries,  but 
flew  to  distant  lands,  and  there,  on  the  summit  of 
some  high  mountain,  it  built  a  palace  of  its  own  de- 
sign in  which  every  thing  was  small  and  lovely,  and 
illuminated  by  some  mysterious  light.  There  were 
to  be  seen  long  suites  of  rooms  decorated  with  a 
thousand  capricious  and  delicate  ornaments,  with  win- 
dows at  which  only  we  two  could  stand  and  little  col- 
umns behind  which  that  child  could  scarcely  have  hid 
her  face  to  play  a  joke  upon  me,  if  she  heard  my  steps 
approaching  from  hall  to  hall,  or  the  sound  of  my 
voice  in  the  midst  of  the  murmur  of  the  fountains  in 
the  earden.  Without  knowingr  it,  in  buildino^  in  im- 
agination  those  palaces,  I  was  building  the  Alham- 
bra  ;  at  such  times  I  have  imagined  something  sim- 
ilar to  these  halls,  windows,  and  that  court  we  see 
from  here  ;  so  like  them,  in  fact,  that  the  more  I 
look  around  me,  the  better  I  remember  it.  and  it 
seems  as  if  I  were  recognizing  the  place  rather  than 
seeing  it  for  the  first  time.  When  people  are  in 
love  they  all  dream  a  little  of  the  Alhambra,  and  if 


GRANADA.  375 

they  could  translate  in  line  and  color  all  those 
dreams,  we  should  have  pictures  which  would 
astonish  one  from  their  resemblance  to  what  one 
sees  here.  This  architecture  does  not  express 
power,  glory,  and  grandeur,  but  rather  loye  and 
voluptuousness  ;  love  with  its  mysteries,  caprices, 
expansions,  and  its  bursts  of  gratitude  to  God ; 
voluptuousness  with  its  bits  of  melancholy  and  si- 
lence. There  is  thus  a  strong  link,  a  harmony  be- 
tween the  beauty  of  this  Alhambra  and  the  souls  of 
those  who  have  been  in  love  at  sixteen,  when  de- 
sires are  dreams  and  visions.  From  this  arises  the 
indescribable  charm  that  this  beauty  exercises  ;  and 
for  this  reason  the  Alhambra,  although  so  deserted 
and  half  in  ruins,  is  still  the  most  fascinating  palace 
of  the  world,  and  in  seeing  it  for  the  last  time 
strangers  shed  tears.  It  is  because  in  saluting  the 
Alhambra,  one  bids  a  last  farewell  to  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  his  youthful  dreams,  which  are  revived  for 
the  last  time  among  its  walls !  One  says  adieu  to 
faces  indescribably  dear  which  have  broken  through 
the  oblivion  of  many  years  to  look  for  a  last  time 
through  the  little  columns  of  these  windows  !  One 
bids  farewell  to  all  the  fancies  of  youth,  farewell 
to  that  love  which  never  lives  again!  " 

"  It  is  true!  "  replied  my  friend  ;  "  but  what  will 
you  say  when  you  have  seen  the  Court  of  the  Lions! 
Come,  let  us  go  to  it !  " 

We  hurriedly  left  the  tower,  crossed  the  court  of 
the  myrtles,  and  arrived  before  a  little  door  facing 
that  of  the  entrance. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  out  Gongora. 

I  stopped. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  " 

•*  A  hundred." 


3/6  SPAIN. 

"  Only  one  :  close  your  eyes  and  do  not  open 
them  until  I  tell  you  to  do  so." 

"  They  are  closed." 

"  But  be  careful  to  keep  them  so;  if  you  open 
them  I  shall  be  annoyed  !" 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  !  " 

Gongora  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  for- 
ward, I  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

We  took,  perhaps,  fifteen  steps  and  stopped. 
Gongora   said  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion  : 

"  Look!" 

I  looked,  and  I  swear  on  the  heads  of  my  readers, 
I  felt  two  tears  running  down  my  cheeks. 

We  were  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions. 

If  I  had  been  forced  to  leave  it  as  soon  as  I  had 
entered,  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  tell  what  I 
had  seen.  It  is  a  forest  of  columns,  a  minoflinor  of 
arches  and  embroideries,  an  indefinable  elegance, 
an  indescribable  -delicacy,  a  prodigious  richness,  a 
something  light,  transparent,  and  undulating,  like  a 
great  pavilion  of  lace ;  with  almost  the  appearance 
of  a  buildino-  which  must  dissolve  at  a  breath  ;  a  va- 
riety  of  lights,  views,  mysterious  darkness,  a  con- 
fusion, a  capricious  disorder  of  little  things,  the  ma- 
jesty of  a  palace,  the  gaiety  of  a  kiosk,  an  amorous 
grace,  an  extravagance,  a  delirium,  the  fancy  of  an 
imaginative  child,  the  dream  of  an  angel,  a  madness, 
a  nameless  something — such  is  the  first  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  Court  of  the  Lions  ! 

It  is  a  court  not  larger  than  a  large  ball-room  ; 
rectangular  in  form,  with  walls  as  high  as  the  Andal- 
usian  houses  which  have  only  one  fioor.  All  around 
runs  a  light  portico^  upheld  by  slender  columns  of 
white  marble, grouped  in  a  symmetrical  disorder,  two 
by  two,  and   three    by  three,   almost  without   any 


GRANADA.  2>77 

pedestal,  so  that  they  seem  Hke  the  trunks  of  trees 
placed  on  the  ground.  They  are  finished  with  varie- 
gated capitals,  tall  and  slender,  in  the  shape  of  small 
pilasters,  over  which  curve   little   arches  of  graceful 
form,  which,  rather  than  leaning,  seemed  to  be  sus- 
pended over  the  columns  in   the  shape   of  curtains, 
that  sustain   the   columns   themselves,   like  ribbons 
and    wavine    orarlands.       From    the   middle    of  the 
shortest    sides    advance    two    groups    of    columns, 
which  form  two  species   of  square   temples,  of  nine 
arches  each,  surmounted  by  as  many  colored  cupola. 
The  walls  of  these  little  temples  and  the   exterior  of 
the  portico  are  a  real  lace- work  of  stucco,  embroid- 
eries, and  hems,  cut   and   pierced   from   one  side  to 
the  other,  and  as  transparent  as  net- work,  changing 
in   design  at  every  step.     Sometimes  they    end  in 
points,  in  crimps,  in  festoons,  sometimes  in   ribbons 
waving  around  the  arches,   in   kinds   of  stalactites, 
fringes,  trinkets,  and  bows,  which   seem   to   oscillate 
and  mingle   at  the  slightest  breath   of  air.     Large 
Arabic  inscriptions  run  along  the  four  walls,  over  the 
arches,  around  the  capitals,  and  on  the  walls  of  the  lit- 
tle temples.     In  the  centre  of  the  court  rises  a  great 
marble  basin,  upheld  by  twelve  lions,  and  surrounded 
by  a  little  paved  canal,  from  which  start  four  other 
small  canals  that,   describing  a  cross   between   the 
four  sides  of  the  court,  cross  the   portico,  enter  the 
neighboring    halls,  unite  with  other    conduits,    and 
run    around    the    entire    building.     Behind  the  two 
small  temples,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  other  two 
sides,    open  halls    and    suites    of  halls,   with    large 
open  doors,  that  allow  one  to  see  the  dark  terminus 
against  which  the  litde  white  columns  gleam  as  they 
would  do  before  the  mouth   of  a  grotto.     At  every 
step  one  takes  in  the  court,  that  forest  of  columns 


3/8  SPAIN. 

seems  to  move  and  change  place,  to  form  again  in  • 
another  way ;  behind  one  column,  which  seems 
alone,  two,  three,  or  a  row  will  spring  out ;  others 
separate,  unite,  and  separate  again.  To  look  from 
the  end  of  one  of  those  rooms,  every  thing  seems 
changed  ;  the  arches  on  the  opposite  side  appear 
very  distant,  the  columns  out  of  place,  the  little 
temples  of  another  form  ;  one  sees  through  walls 
new  arches  and  columns  appearing  here  illuminated 
by  the  sun,  there  in  the  shade,  beyond  scarcely 
visible  in  the  dim  liofht  which  falls  throuMi  the  in- 
terstices  of  the  stucco  ;  further  on  they  are  lost  in 
darkness.  There  is  a  continual  variety  of  views, 
distances,  deceptions,  mysterious  and  optical  illu- 
sions, caused  by  the  architecture,  the  sun,  and  your 
overheated  and  excited  imagination. 

"  What  must  this  court  have  been,"  said  Gon- 
gora,  "  when  the  interior  walls  of  the  portico  were 
glistening  with  mosaics,  the  capitals  of  the  columns 
gleaming  with  gold,  the  ceilings  and  vaults  painted 
in  a  thousand  colors,  the  doors  closed  by  silken  cur- 
tains, the  arches  filled  with  flowers,  and,  under  the 
little  temples  and  in  the  rooms  ran  perfumed  v/ater, 
and  from  the  nostrils  of  the  lions  burst  a  thousand 
sprays  which  fell  back  into  the  basin,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  the  most  delicious  perfumes  of  Arabia !  " 

We  remained  for  more  than  an  hour  in  the  court, 
and  it  passed  like  a  flash  ;  I,  too,  did  what  almost 
all  people  do,  be  they  Spanish  or  strangers,  men  or 
women,  poets  or  not.  I  ran  my  hand  along  the 
walls,  touched  all  the  little  columns,  and  passed  my 
two  hands  around  them,  one  by  one,  as  around  the 
waist  of  a  child  ;  I  hid  among  them,  counted  them, 
looked  at  them  on  a  hundred  sides,  crossed  the 
court  in  a  hundred  ways,  tried  if  it  were   true  that 


GRANADA.  379 

in  saying  a  word,  sotto  voce,  into  the  mouth  of  one 
lion,  one  could  hear  it  distinctly  from  the  mouths  of 
all  the  others  ;  I  looked  on  the  marbles  for  the 
spots  of  blood  of  poetic  legends,  and  wearied  both 
eyes  and  brain  over  the  arabesques.  There  were 
many  ladies  there.  Women  do  all  sorts  of  childish 
things  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions  ;  they  put  their 
face  beween  the  twin  columns,  hide  in  dark  cor- 
ners, sit  on  the  ground,  and  remain  for  hours  mo- 
tionless, their  head  resting  in  their  hand,  dream- 
ing. These  ladies  did  the  same  thing.  There  was 
one  dressed  in  white  who,  passing  behind  the  dis- 
tant columns,  when  she  thought  she  was  unseen, 
assumed  a  certain  easy,  majestic  gait,  like  a  melan- 
choly sultana,  and  then  laughed  with  her  friends  ; 
it  was  enchanting  to  see  them.  My  friend  said  to 
me  : 

"  Let  us  o-o." 

I  replied  : 

"  Let  us  go,"  without  being  able  to  move  one  step. 
I  not  only  experienced  a  sweet  feeling  of  astonish- 
ment, but  I  trembled  with  pleasure,  and  was  seized 
with  the  desire  to  touch,  examine,  and  see  between 
those  walls  and  columns  as  if  they  were  of  some 
mysterious  substance,  and  as  if  the  first  cause  of  the 
fascination  which  that  place  exercises  upon  all,  were 
to  be  found  in  their  hidden  recesses.  In  all  mv  life 
I  have  never  thought,  nor  said,  nor  shall  I  say,  so 
many  foolish,  stupid,  pretty,  senseless  things  as  I 
thought  and  said  in  that  hour. 

"  One  must  come  here,"  said  Gongora,  "at  sunrise, 
at  sunset,  and  on  moonlight  nights  to  see  all  the 
marvels  of  color,  shade,  and  light !  It  is  really 
enough  to  make  one  lose  his  reason  !  " 

We  went  to  see  the  halls.     On  the  eastern  side 


38o  SPAIN. 

there  is  one  called  the  Hall  of  Justice,  which  one 
reaches  in  passing  under  three  great  arches,  each  one 
of  which  corresponds  with  a  door  opening  on  to  the 
court.  It  is  a  long  and  narrow  hall,  whose  archi- 
tecture is  rich  and  bold,  the  walls  covered  with 
intricate  arabesques  and  precious  mosaics,  and  the 
ceiling  all  points,  bunches,  and  knobs  of  stucco  that 
hang  from  the  arches,  along  the  walls,  and  here  and 
there  crowd  together,  droop,  emerge  from  one  an- 
other, and  seem  to  dispute  the  space  like  the  bubbles 
in  boiling  water,  presenting  in  many  points  the  traces 
of  antique  colors,  which  must  have  given  to  that  ceil- 
ing the  appearance  of  a  pavilion  covered  with  sus- 
pended fruit  and  flowers.  The  hall  has  three 
small  alcoves,  in  each  one  of  which,  on  the  ceiling, 
one  still  sees  an  Arabic  painting,  to  which  the  age 
and  the  extreme  rarity  of  work  of  the  pencil  by  the 
Arabs,  give  a  great  value.  The  paintings  are  done 
on  leather,  and  the  leather  is  fastened  to  the  wall. 
In  the  middle  compartment  are  represented,  on  a 
gold  background,  ten  men,  who  are  supposed  to  be 
ten  kings  of  Granada,  dressed  in  white,  seated  upon 
embroidered  cushions,  with  hoods  drawn  over  their 
heads,  and  their  hands  resting  on  scimitars.  The 
paintings  in  the  other  two  alcoves  represent  castles, 
ladies,  cavaliers,  and  hunting  and  love  scenes,  whose 
signification  it  is  difficult  to  grasp.  The  physiognomy 
of  the  ten  kings,  however,  correspond  marvellously 
with  the  idea  that  we  have  formed  of  that  people. 
There  is  olive  color,  the  sensual  mouth,  the  black, 
penetrating,  and  mysterious  eye,  which  one  always 
seems  to  see  gleaming  in  the  dark  corners  of  the 
halls  in  the  Alhambra. 

On  the  northern  side  of  the  court  there  is  another 
hall  called  that  de  las  dos  Hermanas  (the  Hall  of  the 


GRANADA.  38 1 

Two  Sisters),  from  the  two  great  slabs  of  marble 
which  form  its  pavement.  It  is  the  loveliest  hall  in 
the  Alhambra.  It  is  small,  square  in  shape,  covered 
by  one  of  those  ceilings  in  the  form  of  a  cupola,  which 
the  Spaniards  call  half  oranges,  supported  by  small 
columns  and  arches  placed  in  a  circle,  all  ornamented 
like  a  grotto  with  stalactites,  in  numberless  points  and 
indentations,  colored  and  gilded,  and  so  light  in  ap- 
pearance that  they  seem  to  be  suspended  in  the  air, 
and,  if  touched,  would  tremble  like  a  curtain,  rend 
like  a  cloud,  and  disappear  as  if  they  were  a  collection 
of  soap  bubbles.  The  walls  of  stucco,  as  in  all  the 
other  halls,  and  covered  with  very  delicate  ara- 
besques, are  one  of  the  most  marvellous  productions 
of  human  fancy  and  patience.  The  longer  one  looks, 
the  more  the  innumerable  lines  gather  and  interlace. 
One  figure  is  formed  from  another,  a  third  grows 
out  of  this,  and  all  three  present  a  fourth,  which  has 
hitherto  escaped  the  eye.  Then  this  divides  itself 
suddenly  into  ten,  and  is  once  more  decomposed 
and  transformed.  One  never  ceases  to  discover  new 
combinations,  because  where  the  first  reappear,  hav- 
mg  already  been  forgotten,  they  produce  the  same 
effect  as  before.  One  could  easily  lose  his  reason 
and  sight  in  trying  to  find  the  end  of  that  labyrinth. 
It  takes  an  hour  to  see  the  outlines  of  a  window,  the 
ornaments  of  a  pilaster,  and  the  arabesques  of  a 
frieze  ;  but  an  hour  would  not  suffice  to  impress 
upon  the  mind  the  design  of  one  of  the  great  cedar 
doors.  On  two  sides  of  the  hall  there  are  two 
small  alcoves  ;  in  the  centre  is  a  little  basin  with  a  pipe 
for  a  water  jet,  which  is  joined  to  the  canal  which 
crosses  the  court  and  goes  to  the  Fountain  of  the 
Lions.  In  a  straight  line  from  the  door  of  entrance, 
on  the  opposite  side,  there  is  another  door  through 


382  SPAIN. 

which  one  enters  a  second  long,  narrow  path  called 
the  Hall  of  the  Orano-es.  From  this  hall,  throueh  a 
third  door,  one  enters  a  little  cabinet  called  the 
Cabinet  of  Lindaraja,  exceedingly  rich  in  ornaments,  \ 
and  closed  by  a  very  graceful  two-arched  window 
which  looks  out  on  the  garden. 

In  order  to  enjoy  all  the  beauty  of  this  magical 
architecture,  it  is  necessary  to  go  out  of  the  Hall  of 
the  Two  Sisters,  cross  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  and 
enter  the  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  on  the  southern 
side,  opposite  that  of  the  Two  Sisters,  which  it  closely 
resembles  in  form  and  ornamentation.  From  the 
end  of  this  hall  the  eye  sweeps  across  the  Court  of 
the  Lions,  passes  the  Hall  of  the  Two  Sisters,  enters 
that  of  the  Oranges,  penetrates  into  the  Cabinet  of 
Lindaraja,  and  so  into  the  garden,  whose  luxuriant 
verdure  appears  \mder  the  arches  of  that  exquisite 
window.  The  two  apertures  of  this  window,  whiqh, 
seen  from  the  distance,  appear  so  small  and  full  of 
light  at  the  end  of  that  suite  of  dark  rooms,  look 
like  two  eyes,  making  one  fancy  that  beyond  them 
must  lie  some  of  the  mysteries  of  Paradise. 

After  seeing  the  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  we 
went  to  look  at  the  baths  lying  between  the  Hall  of 
the  Two  Sisters  and  the  Court  of  the  Myrdes.  We 
descended  a  little  staircase,  passed  through  a  narrow 
corridor,  and  came  out  in  a  splendid  hall  called  that 
of  the  Divans,  in  which  the  favorites  of  the  kings 
used  to  come,  and  rest  on  Persian  carpets,  and  listen 
to  the  sound  of  the  lyre,  after  their  bath  in  the 
neighboring  rooms.  This  hall  was  rebuilt  on  the 
ruins  of  the  old  one,  and  arabesqued,  gilded,  and 
painted  by  Spanish  artists,  as  the  other  one  must 
have  been  ;  so  that  it  may  be  considered  as  a  room 
of  the  time  of  the  Arabs,  which  has  been  preserved 


GRANADA.  383 

intact.  In  its  centre  is  a  fountain.  In  two  opposite 
walls  are  two  species  of  alcoves  (in  which  the  women 
reclined),  the  tribunes  occupied  by  the  players  being 
higher.  The  walls  are  striped,  speckled,  dotted,  and 
picked  out  with  a  thousand  different  colors,  so  that 
they  present  the  appearance  of  Chinese  stuffs  wrought 
with  gold  threads,  and  that  interminable  net-work 
of  figures  which  would  drive  the  most  patient  mosaic 
worker  in  the  world  quite  crazy ! 

Yet  a  painter  was  working  in  that  room  !  He  had 
been  occupied  three  months  in  copying  the  walls ! 
He  was  a  German.  Gongora  knew  him,  and  asked  : 
"  It  is  a  maddening  sort  of  work,  is  it  not?  "  To 
which  the  man  smilingly  replied  :  "It  does  not  seem 
so  to  me,"  as  he  bent  again  over  his  picture. 

I  looked  at  him  as  I  should  have  done  at  a  crea- 
ture from  another  world. 

We  passed  into  the  little  bath  rooms,  which  are 
vaulted  and  lighted  from  above  by  means  of  some 
holes  in  the  wall  in  the  shape  of  stars  and  flowers. 
The  tubs  are  of  a  single  piece  of  marble,  very  wide, 
and  fastened  between  the  walls.  The  corridors 
leading  from  one  room  to  the  other  are  so  low  and 
narrow  that  a  man  can  hardly  pass,  but  are  deli- 
ciously  cool.  Looking  in  at  one  of  those  little  rooms, 
I  was  suddenly  seized  by  a  sad  thought. 

"  What  is  troubling  you  ?  "  my  friend  asked. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  I  replied,  "  how  we  live,  sum- 
mer and  winter,  in  houses  which  look  like  barracks  ; 
in  rooms  on  the  third  floor  that  are  either  dark,  or 
else  filled  by  a  flood  of  light ;  without  marble,  water, 
flowers,  or  little  pillars,  and  that  we  must  live  all 
our  lives  in  this  way  and  die  among  such  walls, 
without  having  even  once  experienced  the  luxury  of 
these  enchanted  palaces  ;  that,  even  in   this   miser- 


384  SPAIN. 

able  earthly  life,  it  is  possible  to  enjoy  immensely  ; 
but  I  shall  enjoy  nothing!  I  might  have  been  born 
a  king  of  Granada,  four  centuries  ago,  instead  of 
which  I  am  simply  a  poor  man  !  " 

My  friend  laughed,  and,  taking  my  arm  between 
his  first  finger  and  thumb,  as  if  to  give  me  a  pinch, 
replied  : 

"  Don't  think  of  that ;  think  rather  of  how  much 
that  was  beautiful  and  lovely  these  tubs  have  seen ; 
of  the  little  feet  that  played  in  the  perfumed  water, 
of  the  long  hair  that  spread  over  their  edges,  of  the 
great  languid  eyes  that  looked  at  the  sky  through  the 
holes  of  this  ceiling,  while,  under  the  arches  of  the 
Court  of  the  Lions  resounded  the  hastening  steps  of 
an  impatient  caliph,  and  the  hundred  fountains  in  the 
palace  said  with  a  quickened  murmur  :  '  Come,  come, 
come ! '  while,  in  a  perfumed  room,  a  slave,  tremb- 
ling with  reverence,  drew  the  rose-colored  cur- 
tain." 

"  Oh !  do  leave  my  soul  in  peace  ! "  I  said,  shrug- 
ging my  shoulders. 

We  crossed  the  garden  of  the  Cabinet  of  Lindar- 
aja,  a  mysterious-looking  court  called  patio  de  la 
Reja,  and  through  a  long  gallery  looking  out  on  the 
country,  we  arrived  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  farthest 
towers  of  the  Alhambra,  under  a  small  pavilion 
opened  on  all  sides,  and  called  Tocador  de  la  reina, 
(the  queen's  toilette),  which  seemed  to  be  sus- 
pended over  an  abyss,   like  the   nest  of  an   eagle. 

That  the  spectacle  one  enjoys  from  this  point  is 
not  equalled  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  I  am  sure  may 
be  said  without  fear  of  contradiction  from  any  one. 

Imagine  an  immense  plain,  as  green  as  a  field 
covered  with  young  grass,  traversed  in  all  directions 
by  endless  rows  of  cypresses,  pines,  oaks,  and  pop- 


GRANADA.  385 

lars,  scattered  with  thick  groves  of  oranges  (which, 
in  the  distance,  look  Hke  bushes),  and  great  kitchen 
and  flower  gardens,  so  filled  with  fruit  trees  that 
they  present  the  appearance  of  hillsides  covered 
with  verdure.  Across  this  immense  plain  flows  the 
Xenil,  shining  among  the  groves  and  gardens  like 
a  silver  ribbon.  On  all  sides  are  wooded  hills,  and 
beyond  these  hills,  very  high  rocks  in  fantastic 
shapes,  which  seem  like  a  girdle  of  walls  and  titanic 
towers  separating  this  paradise  from  the  world. 
Directly  under  one's  eyes  lies  the  city  of  Granada, 
partly  stretched  over  the  plain,  partly  on  a  hillside 
scattered  with  groups  of  trees  and  shapeless  masses 
of  verdure,  rising  and  waving  above  the  tops  of  the 
houses,  like  enormous  plumes,  which  seem  to 
spread  out,  join  together,  and  cover  the  entire  city. 
Farther  down  is  the  deep  valley  of  the  Darro,  more 
than  covered,  filled,  almost  overwhelmed,  by  a  pro- 
digious accumulation  of  vegetation  rising  like  a 
mountain,  beyond  w^hich  projects  a  grove  of  gigan- 
tic poplars  which  wave  their  tops  under  the  windows 
of  the  tower  almost  within  reach  of  one's  hand.  To 
the  right  beyond  the  Darro,  on  a  hill  rising  straight 
and  bold,  like  a  cupola,  toward  heaven,  is  the  palace 
of  the  Generalife,  crowned  by  aerial  gardens,  and  al- 
most hidden  amid  a  grove  of  laurels,  poplars,  and 
pomegranates.  On  the  opposite  side,  is  a  marvel- 
lous spectacle,  an  incredible  thing — the  vision  of  a 
dream  !  the  Sierra  Nevada,  the  highest  mountain  in 
Europe,  after  the  Alps,  white  as  snow,  to  within  a 
few  miles  of  the  gates  of  Granada,  white  as  far  as 
the  hills  where  the  palms  and  pomegranates  rear 
their  heads,  displays  in  all  its  splendor  an  almost 
tropical  vegetation.  Fancy  now  above  this  im- 
mense paradise,  containing  all  the  smiling  graces  of 


386  SPAIN. 

the  East,  and  all  the  grave  beauties  of  the  North, 
which  unites  Europe  to  Africa,  bringing  to  these 
nuptials  all  the  most  beautiful  marvels  of  nature, 
and  sending  up  to  heaven  in  one,  all  the  perfumes 
of  the  earth  ;  fancy,  I  say,  above  this  blessed  val- 
ley, the  sky  and  sun  of  Andalusia,  which,  turning 
toward  the  West,  tints  the  summits  rose-color,  and 
the  slopes  of  the  Sierra  with  all  the  colors  of  the 
iris  and  all  the  shades  of  the  clearest  blue  pearls. 
Its  rays  become  golden,  purple,  and  ashy,  as  they 
fall  upon  the  rocks  crowning  the  plain ;  and  sinking 
in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  conflagration,  cast,  like  a 
last  farewell,  a  luminous  crown  around  the  pensive 
towers  of  the  Alhambra,  and  the  enwreathed  pin- 
nacles of  the  Generalife.  Tell  me,  then,  whether  the 
world  can  offer  any  thing  more  solesiin,  glorious,  or 
iritoxicating  than  this  love  feast  of  the  earth  and 
sky,  before  which,  for  nine  centuries,  Granada  has 
trembled  with  voluptuousness  and  pride. 

The  roof  of  the  miradoi'-  de  la  reina  is  supported 
by  small  Moorish  pillars,  between  which  stretch 
flat  arches,  that  give  to  the  pavilion  a  strangely 
capricious  and  graceful  aspect.  The  walls  are 
painted  in  fresco,  and  the  initials  of  Isabella  and 
Philip  V,  interlaced  with  cupids  and  flowers,  extend 
along  the  frieze.  Beside  the  entrance  door  there 
still  lies  a  stone  of  the  old  pavement,  perforated, 
on  which,  it  is  said,  the  sultanas  were  placed,  that 
they  might  be  enveloped  in  the  cloud  of  perfume 
burning  underneath.  Every  thing  up  there  breathes 
of  love  and  joy  !  Here,  one  inhales  an  air  as  pure 
as  that  of  the  mountain  tops  ;  perceives  a  mingled 
fragrance  of  myrde  and  rose  ;  and  no  other  sound 
is  heard  save  the  murmur  of  the  Darro,  which  dashes 
between  the  stones  of  its  rocky  bed,  and  the  song 


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GRANADA,  387 

of  thousands  of  birds  hidden  in  the  dense  verdure  of 
the  valley.  It  is  a  veritable  nest  for  lovers  ;  a  hanging 
alcove,  in  which  to  go  and  dream  of  an  aerial  ter- 
race, where  they  might  climb  to  thank  God  for 
being  so  happy. 

"  Ah  !  Gongora,"  I  exclaimed,  after  having  con- 
templated, for  a  few  moments,  that  enchanting  spec- 
tacle, "  I  would  give  ten  years  of  my  life  could  I 
summon  here,  by  the  stroke  of  a  magician's  wand, 
all  the  dear  ones  who  are  waiting  for  me  in  Italy !  " 

Gongora  pointed  out  a  large  space  upon  the  wall, 
quite  black  with  dates  and  names,  written  in  pencil 
and  charcoal,  and  cut  with  pen-knives,  by  visitors  to 
the  Alhambra. 

"  What  is  written  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  approached,  and  uttered  a  cry — 

"  Chateaubriand  !  " 

«'  And  here  }  " 

"  Byron  !  " 

''  And  here  ?  " 

"  Victor  Hugo !  " 

Coming  down  from  the  mirador  de  la  reina  I 
thought  that  I  had  seen  the  Alhambra,  and  was  im- 
prudent enough  to  say  as  much  to  my  friend.  If  a 
stick  had  been  in  his  hand,  I  am  sure  he  would  have 
o-iven  me  a  blow  ;  but  not  having  one,  he  contented 
himself  by  looking  at  me  with  the  air  of  one  asking 
if  I  had  lost  my  reason. 

We  returned  to  the  Court  of  the  Myrtles,  and 
visited  the  halls  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tower  of 
Comares,  the  greater  part  half  ruined,  others  al- 
tered some  perfectly  bare,  without  pavement  or 
roof,  but  all  worth  seeing,  because  of  the  associa- 
tions they  awaken,  and  in  order  to  understand  thor- 
oughly the  structure  of  the  edifice.    The  old  mosque 


388  SPAIN. 

was  converted  into  a  chapel  by  Charles  V  ;  a  great 
Arabian  hall  into  an  oratory.  Here  and  there  one 
sees  remains  of  arabesques,  and  ceilings  of  carved 
cedar.  The  galleries,  courts,  and  vestibules  seem 
like  those  of  a  palace  devastated  by  the  flames. 

Having  visited  also  this  portion  of  the  Alhambra, 
I  really  thought  there  was  nothing  more  to  see,  and 
again  I  was  imprudent  enough  to  say  so  to  Gongora. 
He  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  leading  me 
into  the  vestibule  of  the  Court  of  the  Myrtles,  up  to 
a  plan  of  the  building,  which  was  fastened  to  the 
wall,  he  said  : 

"  Look !  and  you  will  see  that  all  the  rooms, 
courts,  and  towers,  which  we  have  already  visited, 
do  not  occupy  a  twentieth  part  of  the  space  enclosed 
by  the  Alhambra  walls  ;  that  we  have  not  yet  seen 
the  remains  of  three  other  mosques,  the  ruins  of 
the  house  of  the  Cadi,  the  Water-tov/er,  together 
with  those  of  the  Infanta,  the  Prisoner,  the  Candil, 
Pico,  Poignards,  Side  Sztclos,  Captain,  Massacre, 
Hidalgos,  Cocks,  Heads,  Weapons,  Cubes,  Hom- 
age, La  Vela,  Powder,  what  is  left  of  the  house  of 
Mondejar,  the  military  quarters,  iron  gate,  internal 
walls,  cisterns,  and  promenades  ;  for,  you  must 
know  that  the  Alhambra  is  not  a  palace,  but  a  city ! 
One  might  pass  a  lifetime  there  in  looking  up  ara- 
besques, reading  inscriptions,  discovering  each  day 
some  new  view  of  the  hills  and  mountains  ;  and 
in  going  into  ecstacies  regularly  one  hour  out  of 
every  twenty- four  !  " 

And  I  thought  I  had  seen  the  Alhambra  ! 

I  did  not  wish  to  do  any  more  sight-seeing  that 
day,  and  heaven  only  knows  what  a  state  m)-  head 
was  in  when  I  reached  the  hotel.  The  following 
morning,  at  sunrise,  I   returned  to  the  Alhambra  ; 


GRANADA.  389 

went  back  at  eveninor ;  and,  in  fact,  continued  to  eo 
there  every  day  during  my  sojourn  at  Granada, 
either  with  Gongora,  other  friends,  guides,  or  alone, 
as  the  case  might  be.  The  Alhambra  always  seemed 
vaster,  and  more  beautiful  to  me,  when  I  wandered 
back  through  those  courts  and  halls,  passing  hours 
seated  between  the  columns,  or  leaning  against  the 
windows,  with  an  ever-increasing  pleasure,  as  I  dis- 
covered each  time  new  beauties,  and  abandoned 
myself  to  those  vague  and  delicious  fancies,  which 
had  filled  my  mind  on  the  first  day.  I  should  not 
be  able  to  tell  through  what  entrances  my  friends 
led  me  into  the  Alhambra,  but  I  remember  that 
every  day,  in  going  there,  I  saw  walls,  towers,  and 
deserted  streets,  that  I  had  never  seen  before,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  Alhambra  had  changed  its  site 
and  been  transformed,  or  that  new  buildings,  spring- 
ing up,  as  if  by  magic,  around  it,  had  entirely  al- 
tered its  former  aspect.  How  could  any  one  de- 
scribe the  beauty  of  those  places  when  the  sun 
was  setting !  that  fantastic  thicket,  with  the  moon- 
light falling  upon  it!  the  immense  plain,  and  snow- 
:  clad  mountains  on  quiet  nights !  the  grand  outlines 
of  those  enormous  walls,  superb  towers,  and  high 
trees,  against  the  starry  sky !  or  the  continuous 
rustling  in  the  breeze  of  those  boundless  masses  of 
verdure,  which  fill  the  valley,  and  cover  the  hill- 
sides! It  was  a  spectacle,  in  the  presence  of  which 
my  companions  (born  at  Granada,  and  accustomed 
to  witnessing  it  from  their  infancy)  remained  quite 
speechless,  so  that  we  walked  for  long  distances  in 
silence,  each  one  buried  in  his  own  thoughts,  his 
heart  filled  with  a  gentle  sadness,  that  at  times  made 
our  eyes  moisten,  and  our  faces  turn  heavenward  in 
a  burst  of  gratitude  and  tenderness  ! 


I 

390  SPAIN.  » 

The  day  of  my  arrival  at  Granada,  when  I  reen- 
tered the  hotel  at  midniglit,  instead  of  silence  and 
quiet,  I  found  the  patio  lighted  like  a  ball-room  ; 
people  seated  at  tables  sipping  sherbet,  and  others 
running  here  and  there,  talking  and  laughing,  so  that 
I  was  forced  to  wait  an  hour  before  going  to  bed. 
However,  I  passed  that  hour  very  agreeably.  While 
I  stood  looking  at  a  map  of  Spain  fastened  to  the 
wall,  a  huge  man,  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  beet,  ap- 
proached me,  and,  touching  his  cap,  asked  if  I  were 
an  Italian,  to  which  I  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
Then  he  added,  smiling  : 

"  And  I    too  ;   I  am  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel." 

"  I  am  elad  to  hear  it,  all  the  more  so  because  I 
see  that  you  are  making  money." 

"  Yes, — "  he  replied  in  a  melancholy  tone. 
"  Yes,  I  cannot  complain  ;  but,  believe  me,  dear 
sir,  no  matter  how  well  affairs  may  go,  when  one  is 
away  from  his  own  country,  he  feels  a  great  void 
here"  (striking  himself  on  his  enormous  chest). 

I  looked  at  his  protruding  stomach  in  silence. 

"  A  great  void,"  repeated  the  landlord  ;  *'  for  one 
never  forgets  his  own  country — from  what  province 
are  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  F'rom  Liguria — and  you? 

"  From  Piedmont.  Liguria !  Piedmont !  Lom- 
bardy  !     Those  are  countries  !  " 

"They  are  very  beautiful,  without  doubt;  but 
still,  you  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  Spain. 
You  live  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  cities  of  the 
world,  are  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  finest  hotels 
in  the  city,  have  a  crowd  of  strangers  all  the  year 
round,  and  then  I  see  that  you  enjoy  excellent 
health." 

"  But  the  void!" 


GRAiXADA.  391 

I  looked  again  at  his  stomach. 

"  Oh  !  I  understand,  sir  ;  but  you  are  wrono-,  you 
know,  to  judge  by  appearances  !  You  cannot  imacr- 
ine  what  I  feel  when  an  Italian  comes  here.  It  may 
be  weakness, — I  do  not  know, — but  I  should  like  to 
see  him  every  day  at  table  ;  believe  me,  if  my  wife 
did  not  object  to  it,  I  would  send  him,  on  my  own 
account,  a  dozen  dishes  for  the  first  course." 

"  What  time  do  you  dine  to-morrow?  " 

"  At  five  o'clock.  However,  one  eats  little  here — 
warm  countries — every  one  lives  lightly — no  mat- 
ter what  his  nationality  may  be — it  is  a  rule  !  But 
have  you  not  seen  the  other  Italian  who  is  here  ?  " 

Saying  which,  he  turned  around,  and  a  man  who 
was  watching  us  from  a  corner  of  the  court  ap- 
proached. After  a  few  words,  the  landlord  left  us 
alone.  The  stranger  was  a  man  in  the  forties, 
wretchedly  dressed,  who  talked  with  his  teeth  tightly 
closed,  and  continually  twisted  his  hands  in  a  ner- 
vous manner,  as  if  he  had  great  difficulty  in  restrain- 
ing himself  from  using  his  fists.  He  told  me  he  was 
a  Lombardian,  a  chorus  singer,  and  had  arrived  the 
previous  day  at  Granada  with  other  artists,  who  were 
engaged  at  the  opera  for  the  summer  season. 

"A  suicidal  kind  of  country,"  he  exclaimed,  with- 
out any  preamble,  looking  around  as  if  he  were 
about  to  o^ive  a  discourse. 

O 

"  Then  you  don't  like  living  in  Spain  ?  "  I  asked, 

"In  Spain  ?  I  ?  Excuse  me  ;  but  you  might  as 
well  ask  if  I  liked  living  in  the  galleys." 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  Don't  you  see  what  a  people  the  Span- 
ish are  :  ignorant,  superstitious,  proud,  sanguinary, 
impostors,  rogues,  charlatans,  and  rascals." 

Then  he  stood  motionless  for  a  moment  in  an  in^ 


392  SPAIN. 

terrogative  attitude,  with  the  veins  of  his  neck  so 
swollen  that  they  seemed  ready  to  burst." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  replied,  "  your  opinion  is  not  suf- 
ficiently favorable  to  admit  of  my  agreeing  with  you. 
As  for  ignorance,  you  will  excuse  me,  but  it  does 
not  do  for  us  Italians,  who  still  have  cities  where  the 
schoolmasters  are  stoned  and  the  professors  who 
give  their  pupils  a  cipher  are  stabbed,  to  find  fault 
with  others.  As  to  superstition,  oh,  poor  us!  When 
we  see  in  the  city  of  all  Italy — the  one  in  which 
popular  education  is  most  diffused — a  regular  tumult 
take  place  because  a  miraculous  image  of  the  Virgin 
has  been  found  by  some  wretched  woman  in  the 
middle  of  the  street.  Then,  as  to  crime,  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  if  I  were  obliged  to  make  a  comparison 
between  the  two  countries,  statistics  in  hand,  in  the 
presence  of  a  Spanish  audience,  without  having  first 
informed  myself  as  to  the  causes  and  results,  I  should 
be  very  much  frightened.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  by 
this  that  we,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  are 
not  in  a  better  condition  than  the  Spaniards  ;  but  I 
do  mean  that  an  Italian,  in  judging  Spaniards,  if  he 
wishes  to  be  just,  must  be  indulgent." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  that  does  not  satisfy  me — it  is  a 
country  without  any  political  bias  !  a  country  which 
is  a  prey  to  anarchy.  Tell  me  the  name  of  any  great 
Spaniard  of  the  present  day !  " 

"  I  really  cannot — there  are  so  few  great  men  a.ny- 
where. 

"  Cite  me  a  Galileo !  " 

"  Ah,  they  have  none  !  " 

"  Cite  me  a  Ratazzi !  " 

"  They  have  none  either." 

"  Cite  me — but  they  have  nothing  !  Do  you  think 
the  country  beautiful  ?  " 


GRANADA.  393 

"  Ah !  excuse  me  ;  that  is  a  point  whicli  I  will  not 
cede.  Andalusia,  to  cite  a  single  province,  is  a  para- 
dise. Seville,  Cadiz,  and  Granada  are  magnificent 
cities." 

"  What  ?  Do  you  like  the  little  houses  of  Seville 
and  Cadiz,  which  whiten  any  poor  devil  from  head 
to  foot  who  happens  to  graze  their  walls  ?  Do  you 
like  the  narrow  streets,  which  one  can  hardly  pass 
through  after  a  good  dinner  ?  Do  you  find  the  An- 
dalusian  women,  with  their  demoniacal  eyes,  beau- 
tiful ?  Nonsense !  You  are  too  indulgent.  They 
are  not  a  serious  people.  They  called  Don  Ama- 
deus,  and  now  they  wish  him  no  longer!  It  is  just 
because  they  are  not  worthy  of  being  governed  by 
a  civilized  man\  "  (textual). 

"  Then  you  find  nothing  good  in  Spain  ?" 

"  Nothing  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  remain  here,  then  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  earn  my  bread  here." 

"  That  is  something." 

"  But  what  food !  I  live  like  a  dog,  with  this 
Spanish  cooking !  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  but  instead  of  living  like  a  dog  in 
Spain,  why  do  you  not  go  and  live  like  a  man  in 
Italy?" 

This  remark  rather  confused  the  poor  artist ; 
and  in  order  to  relieve  him  from  his  embar- 
rassment, I  offered  him  a  cigar,  which  he  took 
and  lighted  without  uttering  a  word.  Nor  was 
he  the  only  Italian  in  Spain  who  spoke  in  this 
manner  of  the  country  and  its  inhabitants  ;  deny- 
ing even  the  clearness  of  the  sky  and  the  grace- 
fulness of  the  Andalusian  women.  I  cannot  see 
what  pleasure  there  is  in  travelling  in  this  way,  with 
one's   heart   closed  to   every  charitable  feeling,  al- 


394  SPAIN. 

ways  ready  to  censure  and  despise,  as  if  every  good 
and  beautiful  thing-  found  in  a  foreign  country  had 
been  stolen  from  our  own,  and  as  if  we  could  not 
boast  of  being  worth  any  thing  ourselves  except  on 
the  condition  of  undervaluing  others.  People  who 
travel  in  this  frame  of  mind,  inspire  in  me  more  pity 
than  annoyance,  because  they  deprive  themselves 
voluntarily  of  many  pleasures  and  comforts.  At 
least,  so  it  seems  to  me,  in  judging  others  by  myself; 
because  wherever  I  go,  the  first  feeling  that  people 
and  things  waken  in  me  is  one  of  sympathy  ;  a  de- 
sire not  to  find  any  thing  to  censure  ;  a  wish  to  em- 
bellish in  my  own  eyes  all  lovely  things,  to  conceal 
from  myself  all  that  is  displeasing,  to  pardon  defects, 
and  to  say  distinctly  to  myself  and  others  that  I  am 
content  with  every  thing.  I  am  not  obliged  to  make 
any  effort  to  reach  this  point,  for  every  thing  pre- 
sents Itself  almost  spontaneously  to  my  eyes  under 
its  most  agreeable  aspect ;  an*d  my  imagination 
benignly  covers  all  other  aspects  with  a  little  couIcilv 
de  rose.  I  am  very  well  aware  that  one  cannot  study 
a  country  in  this  way,  write  critical  essays,  nor  ac- 
quire the  reputation  of  being  a  profound  thinker  ; 
but  I  know  that  one  travels  with  a  tranquil  mind,  and 
that  the  journeys  are  very  profitable. 

The  following  day  I  went  to  see  the  Generalife,  a 
summer  villa  of  the  Moorish  sovereigns,  whose  name 
is  associated  with  that  of  the  Alhambra,  as  that  of 
the  Alhambra  is  with  that  of  Granada  ;  although 
very  few  arches  and  arabesque  of  the  ancient  Gen- 
eralife remain.  It  is  a  small,  simple,  white  villa, 
with  few  windows,  an  arched  gallery,  and  a  terrace, 
and  is  hidden  in  the  midst  of  a  thicket  of  laurel  and 
myrtle,  on  the  summit  of  a  flowery  mountain  rising 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  Darro,  opposite  the  hill  of 


GRANADA.  395 

the  Alhambra.  In  front  of  the  facade  of  the  palace 
extends  a  Httle  garden,  and  other  gardens  rise  one 
above  the  other,  almost  in  the  form  of  a  terrace,  up 
to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  a  high  loggia 
rises,  forming  the  boundary  of  the  Generalife.  The 
avenues  of  the  gardens,  the  broad  steps  that  lead 
from  one  to  another,  and  the  beds  full  of  flowers, 
are  flanked  by  high  espaliers,  surmounted  by  arches, 
and  divided  into  arbors  of  curved  myrtle,  and  inter- 
laced with  graceful  designs.  At  each  landing  rise 
small  white  houses,  shaded  by  trellises  and  groups 
of  orange  trees  and  cypresses.  The  water  is  as 
abundant  now  as  in  the  time  of  the  Arabs,  and  gives 
to  the  place  a  grace,  freshness,  and  life  which  is 
quite  indescribable.  On  all  sides  you  hear  the 
murmur  of  brooklets  and  fountains.  You  turn  from 
one  avenue  and  meet  a  jet  of  water,  look  out  of  a 
window  and  see  a  spurt  that  comes  up  to  the 
window-sill,  enter  a  group  of  trees  and  receive  the 
spray  from  a  cascade  in  your  face.  Everywhere 
you  turn  there  is  water,  which  is  leaping,  running, 
falling,  gurgling,  or  sparkling  amid  the  grass  and 
shrubs.  From  the  top  of  this  loggia  the  eye  falls 
upon  all  those  gardens  descending  in  slopes,  and 
stairs ;  sinks  into  the  abyss  of  vegetation  which 
separates  the  two  mountains  ;  takes  in  all  the  bound- 
ary of  the  Alhambra,  with  the  cupolas  of  its  little 
temples,  distant  towers,  and  paths  that  wind  among 
its  ruins  ;  extends  over  the  city  of  Granada,  the 
plain,  and  hills  ;  and  traverses  with  a  single  glance  all 
the  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  which  seem  within 
an  hour's  reach.  While  you  are  contemplating  this 
spectacle,  your  ear  is  soothed  by  the  murmur  of  a 
hundred  springs,  and  the  distant  sound  of  the  city 
bells,   coming  up  in   waves,  from  time  to  time,  to- 


39^  SPAIN. 

gether  with  a  mysterious  perfume  of  an  earthly 
paradise,  that  makes  you  tremble  with  dehght. 

Beyond  the  Generahfe,  on  the  top  of  a  higher 
mountain,  now  bare  and  squahd,  there  rose,  in  the 
time  of  the  Arabs,  other  royal  palaces  with  gardens 
joined  together  by  great  avenues  lined  with  myr- 
tles. Now,  all  those  marvels  of  architecture,  crowned 
by  groves,  fountains,  and  flowers,  those  enchanted 
aerial  palaces,  those  superb  nests  filled  with  love 
and  delight,  have  disappeared,  and  scarcely  a  pile 
of  debris,  or  a  little  bit  of  wall,  remains  to  show 
the  traveller  where  they  stood.  Yet  these  ruins, 
which  elsewhere  would  give  rise  to  a  feeling  of  mel- 
ancholy, do  not  have  this  effect  in  the  presence  of 
that  beautiful  nature,  whose  fascination  has  never 
been  equalled  by  even  the  most  marvellous  works 
of  man. 

Upon  reentering  the  city,  I  stopped  at  one  end  of 
the  Carrera  del  Daj^ro  (course  of  the  Darro),  before 
a  house  richly  ornamented  with  bas-reliefs,  repre- 
senting heraldic  shields,  armor,  cherubims,  and  lions, 
with  a  small  balcony  on  one  corner,  over  which, 
partly  on  one  wall,  partly  on  the  other,  I  read  the 
following  mysterious  inscription  in  large  lettters  : 

"  ESPERANDO    LA    DEL    CIELO," 

which  signifies,  literally  translated  :  Awaiting  that 
of  heaven.  Curious  to  know  the  hidden  meaning  of 
these  words,  I  wrote  them  down,  to  ask  the  gifted 
father  of  my  friend  about  them.  He  gave  me  two 
explanations,  one  of  which  is  probably  correct,  but 
not  romantic ;  the  other  romantic,  but  decidedly 
doubtful.     Here  is  the  latter  :  The  house  belonged 


GRANADA.  397 

to  Don  Fernando  di  Zafra,  secretary  of  the  Catholic 
kings,  who  had  a  beautiful  daughter.  A  young 
hidalgo,  of  a  family  either  inimical  or  inferior  to 
that  of  the  Zafra,  became  enamoured  of  the  dauo-h- 
ter,  and  his  love  was  returned,  and  he  asked  for 
her  hand,  but  was  refused.  This  refusal  of  the 
father  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  these  young 
people's  love.  The  windows  of  the  house  were 
low,  and  the  lover  succeeded,  one  night,  in  climbing 
by  a  ladder  into  the  girl's  room.  Whether  he  over- 
turned a  chair  in  entering,  coughed,  or  gave  a  cry 
of  joy  at  the  sight  of  his  lovely  sweetheart  with 
loosened  hair  and  open  arms,  tradition  does  not 
narrate,  but  certain  it  is,  that  Don  Fernando  di 
Zafra,  hearing  a  noise,  rushed  in,  discovered  every 
thing,  and,  blind  with  rage,  dashed  upon  the  unfor- 
tunate youth  to  put  him  to  death.  The  young 
fellow  succeeded  in  making  his  escape,  however, 
and  Don  Fernando,  in  following  him,  stumbled 
across  one  of  his  own  pages,  a  partisan  of  this  affair, 
who  had  helped  the  hidalgo  to  enter  the  house. 
Without  waiting  to  hear  any  explanations  or  prayers, 
he  had  him  seized,  and  hanged  from  the  balcony. 
Tradition  states  that  while  the  poor  victim  cried : 
"  Pity  !  pity !  "  the  offended  father  replied,  pointing 
to  the  terrace  :  "  Thou  wilt  stay  there  cspcrando  la 
del  cielo ! "  a  reply  which  he  afterward  had  en- 
graved upon  the  stone  over  the  wall,  to  the  per- 
petual terror  of  seducers  and  go-betweens. 

I  devoted  the  remainder  of  the  day  to  the  churches 
and  convents. 

The  cathedral  of  Granada  deserves,  even  more 
than  that  of  Malaga  (which  is  also  beautiful  and 
magnificent),  to  be  described  part  by  part ;  but  there 


y98  SPAIN. 

have  been  enough  descriptions  of  churches  already. 
It  was  begun  in  i529  by  the  CathoHc  kings,  but  re- 
mained unfinished.  It  has  a  great  fagade,  with 
three  doors,  ornamented  by  statues  and  bas-rehefs ; 
and  is  formed  by  five  naves,  divided  by  twenty  im- 
mense pilasters  composed  of  a  group  of  slender 
pillars.  The  chapels  contain  paintings  of  Bocca- 
negra,  pieces  of  sculpture  by  Torrigiani,  tombs  and 
precious  ornaments.  The  most  beautiful  of  all  is 
the  principal  chapel,  upheld  by  twenty  Corinthian 
columns,  divided  into  two  rows,  on  the  first  of  which 
rise  colossal  statues  of  the  twelve  apostles,  and  on 
the  second  an  entablature  covered  with  o-arlands  and 
heads  of  cherubims.  Above  runs  a  row  of  lovely 
stained  glass  windows,  representing  the  Passion,  and 
from  the  frieze  which  crowns  them  spring  ten  bold 
arches  that  form  the  roof  of  the  chapel.  In  the 
arches  supporting  the  columns  are  six  great  paint- 
ings of  Alonzo  Cano,  which  have  the  reputation  of 
being  his  most  beautiful  and  complete  work. 

Since  I  have  named  Alonzo  Cano  (a  native  of 
Granada,  one  of  the  most  valiant  Spanish  painters, 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  who,  although  a  disciple  of 
the  Sevillian  school  rather  than  a  founder,  as  others 
assert,  of  a  school  of  his  own,  is  not  less  original 
than  his  greater  contemporaries),  I  wish  to  jot 
down  some  of  the  traits  of  his  character  and  inci- 
dents of  his  life,  which  are  little  known  out  of  Spain, 
but  very  noteworthy.  Alonzo  Cano  was  the  most 
quarrelsome,  irate,  and  violent  of  the  Spanish 
painters.  He  passed  his  life  in  litigation.  He  was 
an  ecclesiast,  and  from  i652  to  i658,  for  six  con- 
secutive years,  without  one  day's  interruption,  he 
quarrelled  with  the  canons  of  the  Granada  Cathe- 
dral, of  whom  he  was  the  accountant.     Before  leav- 


GRANADA.  399 

ing-  Granada,  he  broke  into  pieces  with  his  own 
hands  a  statue  of  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  which  he 
had  made  by  order  of  an  auditor  of  the  chancery, 
because  the  latter  ventured  to  observe  that  the  price 
seemed  a  Httle  dear.  He  was  nominated  drawing- 
master  of  the  prince  imperial,  who,  it  would  seem, 
was  not  born  with  a  talent  for  painting,  and  treated 
his  pupil  so  badly  that  the  latter  was  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  the  king  in  order  to  be  taken  out  of  his 
hands.  Sent  back,  by  special  favor,  to  Granada,  to  the 
chapter  of  the  cathedral,  he  retained  such  a  feeling  of 
rancor  about  his  old  quarrels  with  the  canons,  that  he 
would  never  do  another  stroke  w^ith  his  pencil  for  them. 
This  is  very  little.  He  nourished  a  blind,  brutal,  in- 
extinguishable hatred  against  the  Jews,  and  had 
taken  the  fancy  into  his  head  that  the  touching  of  a 
Jew  in  any  way,  or  of  any  effect  touched  by  him, 
would  bring  him  misfortune.  This  fixed  idea  made 
him  do  some  of  the  most  extraordinary  things  in 
the  world.  If,  in  passing  through  the  street,  he 
touched  a  Jew,  he  would  take  off  the  infected  gar- 
ment, and  return  home  in  his  shirt  sleeves.  If  by 
chance  he  succeeded  in  discovering  that  a  servant  had 
received  a  Jew  into  the  house  during  his  absence,  he 
would  discharge  the  servant,  throw  away  the  shoes 
with  which  he  had  trod  the  pavement  profaned  by 
the  circumcised,  and  sometimes  even  had  the  pave- 
ment entirely  made  over.  He  found  means  to  quar- 
rel even  when  he  was  dying.  When  his  last  hour 
arrived,  and  a  confessor  presented  him  a  common 
crucifix  made  with  a  hatchet,  that  he  might  kiss  it,  he 
pushed  it  away  with  his  hand,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 
"  Father,  give  me  a  bare  cross,  so  that  I  may  wor- 
ship Jesus  Christ  as  he  really  is,  and  as  I  see  him  in 
my   mind."     Despite   all  this,  he   had  a  good  and 


400  SPAIN. 

charitable  heart,  despised  every  low  action,  and 
loved  deeply  and  purely  the  art  in  which  he  made 
himself  immortal. 

Returning  to  the  church,  when  I  had  made  the  tour 
of  the  chapels  and  was  preparing  to  leave,  I  was  sud- 
denly seized  with  the  idea  that  something  still  re- 
mained to  be  seen.  I  had  not  read  the  guide  book, 
and  no  one  had  told  me  any  thing  ;  but  I  heard  a 
voice  within  me  saying  :  "  Seek!"  and  indeed  I  look- 
ed around  me  in  every  direction  without  knowing  of 
what  I  was  in  search.  A  guide  noticed  me,  ap- 
proached sidewise,  as  they  all  do,  and  asked,  with  a 
mysterious  air  : 

"  Do  you  wish  any  thing  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  you  to  tell  me,"  I  replied,  "  if  there 
is  any  thing  to  be  seen  in  this  cathedral  besides  that 
which  one  sees  from  here  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible,"  exclaimed  the  guide,  "  that  you 
have  not  seen  the  royal  chapel  ?  " 

"  What  is  there  in  the  royal  chapel  ?  " 
"  What  is  there  ?     Caramba  !     Nothing  less  than 
the   tombs   of    Ferdinand  and   Isabella  the  Catho- 
lic!  " 

I  thought  so !  There  was  a  place  -in  my  mind 
prepared  for  this  idea,  and  the  idea  was  not  there! 
The  Catholic  kings  must,  of  course,  have  been  buried 
at  Granada,  where  they  fought  the  last  great  chival- 
rous war  of  the  mediaeval  ages,  and  where  they 
commissioned  Christopher  Columbus  to  arm  the 
ships  that  took  him  to  the  New  World !  I  ran 
rather  than  walked  to  the  royal  chapel,  preceded  by 
the  limping  guide  ;  an  old  priest  opened  the  door  of 
the  sacristy,  and  before  allowing  me  to  enter  and  see 
the  tombs,  he  led  me  to  a  species  of  glass  cabinet 
filled  with  precious  objects,  and  said  : 


GRANADA.  4^1 

"You  know  that  Isabella  the  Catholic,  in  order  to 
furnish  Christopher  Columbus  with  the  money  for 
the  arming  of  his  ships,  and  not  knowing  where  to 
find  any,  as  the  coffers  of  state  were  empty,  put  her 
jewels  in  pawn." 

"  Yes  ;  well?  "  I  asked  impatiently,  and  foresee- 
ing the  answer,  felt  my  heart  beating  rapidly. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sacristan,  "this  is  the  box  in 
which  the  queen  placed  her  jewels  when  sending 
them  to  pawn  !  " 

Saying  which,  he  opened  the  door,  took  out  the 
box,  and  handed  it  to  me. 

Let  strong  men  say  what  they  choose  ;  for  my 
part,  these  things  make  me  tremble  and  weep.  I 
have  touched  the  box  which  contained  the  treasures 
by  means  of  which  Columbus  was  enabled  to  dis- 
cover America!  Every  time  that  I  repeat  these 
words,  my  blood  is  stirred  within  me !  and  I  add : 
"  I  have  touched  it  with  this  hand,"  and  I  look  at  my 
hand. 

That  cabinet  also  contains  the  sword  of  King  Fer- 
dinand, the  crown  and  sceptre  of  Isabella,  a  missal 
and  several  other  ornaments  of  these  two  sov- 
ereigns. 

We  entered  the  chapel,  between  the  altar  and  a 
great  iron  railing  which  separates  it  from  the  re- 
maining space,  in  front  of  two  large  marble  mauso- 
leums, ornamented  with  statues  and  bas-reliefs  of 
great  value.  On  one  of  them  are  stretched  the 
statues  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  dressed  in  their 
royal  robes,  with  crown,  sword,  and  sceptre.  On 
the  other  were  the  statues  of  two  other  princes  of 
Spain.  Around  the  statues  were  lions,  angels,  coats 
of  arms,  and  various  ornaments,  which  present  a  re- 
gally austere  and  magnificent  aspect. 


402  SPAIN. 

The  sacristan  lighted  a  torch,  and,  pointing  to  a 
kind  of  trap-door  situated  in  the  pavement  which 
separates  the  two  mausoleums,  begged  me  to  raise 
it,  so  that  we  could  go  down  below.  The  guide  as- 
sisted me,  we  opened  the  trap  the  sacristan  de- 
scended, and  I  followed  him  down  a  narrow  staircase 
to  a  little  subterranean  room,  in  which  were  five  lead 
caskets,  each  one  marked  with  two  initials  sur- 
mounted by  a  crown.  The  sacristan  lowered  the 
torch,  and,  touching  them  one  by  one,  said  to  me  in 
a  slow  and  solemn  voice  ; 

"  Here  reposes  the  great  Queen  Isabella  the  Cath- 
olic." 

"  Here  reposes  the  great  King  Ferdinand  V." 
"  Here  reposes  the  King  Philip  I." 
"  Here  reposes  Queen  Joanna  the  mad." 
"  Here  reposes    Dona    Maria,  her  daughter,  who 
died  at  the  age  of  nine  years." 

"  God  have  them  all  in  his  holy  keeping." 
Then  planting  his  torch  in  the  ground,  he  crossed 
his  arms  and  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  to  give  me  time 
for  my  meditations. 

One  might  grow  quite  humpbacked  leaning  over  a 
table  while  he  described  all  the  religious  monuments 
of  Granada.  There  are  the  superb  Cartoja,  the  Mon- 
tesacro,  containing  the  grottos  of  the  martyrs  ;  the 
Church  of  San  Geronimo,  w^iere  the  great  captain 
Gonzales  di  Cordova  is  buried  ;  the  convent  of  St. 
Dominic,  founded  by  the  inquisitor  Torquemada  ; 
that  of  the  Angels,  which  contains  pictures  of  Cano 
and  Murillo  ;  together  with  many  others,  but  I  fancy 
that  my  readers  may  be  much  more  weary  than  I, 
so  will  spare  them  a  quantity  of  descriptions  which 
would  probably  only  give  them  a  confused  idea  of 
things. 


GRANADA.  4O3 

However,  as  I  have  mentioned  the  tomb  of  El 
Gran  Capitan,  Fernando  Gonzales  of  Cordova,  I 
cannot  refrain  from  translating  a  curious  document 
referring  to  him,  and  which  was  given  me  in  the 
Church  of  San  Geronimo  by  a  sacristan  who  was  a 
great  admirer  of  that  hero's  exploits. 

The  document  is  in  the  shape  of  an  anecdote,  be- 
ginning as  follows  : 

"  Every  step  of  the  great  Captain,  Don  Gonzales  di 
Cordova,  was  an  assault,  and  each  assault  was  a  vic- 
tory. His  sepulchre  in  the  convent  of  the  Gerono- 
mites  at  Granada  was  adorned  with  two  hundred  ban- 
ners taken  by  him.  His  envious  rivals,  and  espe- 
cially the  treasurers  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  in 
i5o6,  induced  the  king  to  demand  of  Gonzales  an 
account  of  the  great  sums  he  had  received  from 
Spain  for  the  war  in  Italy,  and,  in  fact,  the  king  was 
so  small  as  to  consent,  and  be  present  at  the  Con- 
fercncia. 

"  Gonzales  received  the  demand  with  the  greatest 
scorn,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  give  a  severe  lesson 
to  the  treasurers  and  king  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
the  conqueror  of  a  kingdom  should  be  treated. 

"  He  replied  with  great  indifference  and  serenity 
that  his  accounts  should  be  prepared  for  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  he  would  show  which  was  the  debtor, 
the  exchequer  or  himself ;  the  former  reclaiming  one 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  ducats  consigned  to 
him,  as  the  first  sum,  eighty  thousand  for  the  sec- 
ond, three  millions  for  the  third,  eleven  millions  for 
the  fourth,  thirteen  for  the  fifth  ;  and  so  the  grave, 
gangoso  (of  the  nasal  voice)  and  foolish  secretary 
who  authorized  such  an  important  act  went  on  read- 
ing. 

"  Gonzales  kept  his  word.  He  presented  himself 
at  the  second  audience,  and  drawing  out  a  volumi- 


404  SPAIN, 

nous  book,  in  which  he  had  written  his  justifications, 
he  began  reading,  in  a  high  and  sonorous  voice,  the 
followinof  words  : 

" '  Two  hundred  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
thirty-six  ducats  and  nine  reales  to  the  monks,  nuns, 
and  poor,  so  that  they  might  pray  for  the  triumph 
of  the  Spanish  arms. 

"  '  One  hundred  thousand  for  shovels,  spades,  and 
pickaxes. 

"  '  One  hundred  thousand  in  powder  and  balls. 
Ten  thousand  ducats  in  jDerfumed  gloves  to  protect 
the  soldiers  from  the  smell  of  the  bodies  of  the 
enemy  scattered  on  the  field  of  battle. 

"  *  One  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  ducats  to 
replace  the  bells  destroyed  by  ringing  for  continu- 
ous new  victories  gained  over  the  enemy. 

*'  '  Fifty  thousand  ducats  in  brandy  for  the  sol- 
diers on  a  day  of  battle. 

"  *  One  million  and  a  half  of  ducats  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  prisoners  and  wounded. 

"  '  One  million  in  masses  of  thanks  and  Te  Deum 
to  the  Omnipotent. 

"  *  Three  hundred  million  in  masses  for  the  dead. 

" '  Seven  hundred  thousand  four  hundred  and 
ninety-four  ducats  for  spies  ;  and — 

"  '  One  hundred  million  for  the  patience  I  dis- 
played yesterday  in  hearing  that  the  king  asked  for 
accounts  from  the  man  who  had  given  him  his 
kinodom.' 

"  These  are  the  celebrated  accounts  of  the  great 
Captain,  the  originals  of  which  are  in  the  possession 
of  Count  d'  Altimira. 

"  One  of  the  original  accounts,  with  the  autograph 
of  the  great  Captain,  is  in  the  Military  Museum  of 
London,  where  it  is  preserved  with  great  care." 


GRANADA.  405 

After  reading  this  document,  I  returned  to  the 
hotel,  making  mahcious  comparisons  between  Gon- 
zales di  Cordova  and  the  Spanish  generals  of  the 
present  day,  which  reasons  of  state,  as  they  say  in 
the  tragedies,  prevent  me  from  repeating. 

I  saw  something  entertaining  in  my  hotel  each 
da)\  There  were  many  university  students,  who 
had  come  from  Malaga  and  other  cities  in  Anda- 
lusia to  undergo  their  examinations  for  the  doctor's 
degree  at  Granada.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was 
because  they  were  less  severe  here,  or  for  what 
other  reason.  One  morning  at  breakfast,  one  of 
them,  a  young  fellow  just  past  twenty,  announced 
that  he  was  to  have  his  examination  for  canonical 
rights  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  that  not 
being  very  sure  of  himself  he  had  decided  to  drink 
a  glass  of  wine,  in  order  to  refresh  the  sources  of 
eloquence.  Not  being  accustomed  to  drink  any  but 
watered  wine,  he  was  imprudent  enough  to  take 
down  at  one  swallow  a  glass  of  Jerez.  His  face  in- 
stantly became  so  altered,  that  if  I  had  not  seen 
the  change  with  my  own  eyes  I  should  not  have  be- 
lieved it  to  be  the  same  face  as  before. 

"  That  is  enough !  "  cried  his  friends.  But  the 
young  man,  feeling  that  he  had  become  both  strong 
and  bold,  cast  a  compassionate  glance  at  his  com- 
panions, and  ordered  another  glass  from  the  waiter, 
with  a  dio-nified  o-esture. 

"  You  will  become  intoxicated,"  they  said. 

The  only  reply  he  vouchsafed  them  was  to  swal- 
low a  second  glass. 

Then  he  became  very  loquacious.  There  were 
about  twenty  people  at  table,  and  in  a  few  moments 
he  had  entered  into  conversation  with  them  all.  He 
made  a  thousand  revelations  of  his  past  life,  and  his 


406  SPAIN. 

designs  for  the  future.  He  said  he  was  from  Cadiz, 
had  eight  thousand  lire  a  year,  and  wished  to  de- 
vote himself  to  a  diplomatic  career,  because,  with 
that  income,  and  something  an  uncle  was  to  leave 
him,  he  would  be  able  to  cut  a  good  figure.  He 
stated  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  a  wife 
at  thirty,  and  to  marry  a  woman  as  tall  as  himself, 
because,  in  his  opinion,  the  wife  ought  to  be  of  the 
same  stature  as  the  husband,  in  order  to  prevent 
either  from  getting  the  upper  hand.  He  went  on  to 
say  that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  had  been  in  love 
with  the  daughter  of  an  American  consul,  who  was 
as  beautiful  as  a  rose  and  solid  as  a  pine,  but  with 
a  red  spot  behind  one  ear,  which  looked  very  badly, 
although  she  understood  quite  well  how  to  cover 
it  with  her  mantilla,  and  he  showed  with  his  nap- 
kin just  how  she  did.  He  announced  that  Don 
Amadeus  was  too  ingenuous  to  govern  Spain,  and 
that  he  had  always  preferred  the  poet  Espronceda 
to  Zorilla  ;  that  ceding  Cuba  to  America  was  non- 
sense ;  that  he  did  not  fear  the  examination  for 
canonical  rights,  and  that  he  wished  to  drink  a  little 
more  of  the  Jerez  wine,  which  was  the  first  in 
Europe. 

He  drank  a  third  glass,  despite  the  good  counsels 
and  disapprobation  of  his  friends,  and  after  having 
chattered  a  little  more  amid  the  laughter  of  his  au- 
dience, he  suddenly  stopped,  looked  fixedly  at  a  lady 
opposite  him,  dropped  his  head,  and  went  to  sleep. 
I  thought  he  would  not  be  able  to  present  himself 
for  examination  that  day,  but  was  mistaken.  An 
hour  later  his  friends  waked  him  ;  he  went  up  stairs 
to  wdsh  his  face,  rushed  off  to  the  university  quite 
sleepy  still,  took  his  examination,  and  was  promoted, 
to  the  great  glory  of  the  wine  of  Jerez  and  Spanish 
diplomacy. 


GRANADA.  4^7 

The  following  days  were  employed  in  seeing  the 
monuments,  or,  better  to  express  myself,  the  ruins 
of  the  Arabian  monuments,  which,  beside  the  Al- 
hambra  and  Generalife,  attest  to  the  ancient  splen- 
dor of  Granada.  As  it  was  the  last  bulwark  of 
Islam,  Granada  is,  among  all  the  Spanish  cities,  the 
one  which  retains  the  greatest  number  of  souvenirs. 
On  the  hill  called  the  Duiadamar  (fountain  of 
tears),  are  traces  of  the  ruins  of  four  towers, 
that  rose  at  the  four  corners  of  an  immense 
cistern,  into  which  flowed  from  the  Sierra  all  the 
water  used  in  the  highest  part  of  the  city.  There 
were  baths,  gardens,  and  villas,  of  which  no  trace  is 
left,  and  from  these  one  could  take  in  at  a  single 
glance  the  city  with  its  minarets,  terraces,  and 
mosques  gleaming  amid  the  palms  and  cypresses. 
Near  here  is  still  seen  an  Arabian  gate,  called  the 
Elvira  gate,  formed  by  a  great  arch  covered  with 
batdements.  Farther  on  are  the  ruins  of  the  palaces 
of  the  caliphs.  Near  the  Alameda  promenade  is  a 
square  tower,  containing  a  large  room,  ornamented 
with  the  usual  Arabian  inscriptions.  Close  by  the 
convent  of  San  Dominic  are  the  remains  of  gardens 
and  palaces  which  were  once  joined  to  the  Alham- 
bra  by  means  of  a  subterranean  passage.  Within 
the  city  is  the  Alcaiceria,  an  Arabian  market  almost 
intact,  formed  by  several  small,  straight  streets,  as 
narrow  as  a  corridor,  and  flanked  by  two  rows  of 
shops,  one  joining  the  other,  that  present  the  strange 
aspect  of  an  Asiatic  bazaar.  Indeed  one  cannot 
take  a  step  in  Granada  without  meeting  an  arch,  an 
arabesque,  a  column,  and  a  pile  of  stones  that  recall 
her  fantastic  past,  when  she  was  a  Sultana. 

How  many  turns  and  twists  I  made  through  those 
tortuous  streets,  in  the  warmest  portion  of  the  day, 


4o8  ■       SPAIN, 

under  a  sun  that  was  perfectly  scorching,  without 
meeting"  a  living'  soul !  At  Granada,  as  is  the  case 
in  all  the  other  Andalusian  cities,  people  do  not  show 
themselves  until  night  ;  and  at  night  they  make  up 
for  their  imprisonment  during  the  day  by  gathering 
and  croM^cling  in  the  public  promenades  with  the 
haste  and  bustle  of  a  multitude,  one  half  of  which 
is  looking  for  the  other  on  account  of  urgent  busi- 
ness. The  thickest  crowd  is  on  the  Alameda,  and 
yet  I  passed  my  evenings  there  with  Gongora,  who 
talked  of  Arabian  monuments,  a  journalist  who  dis- 
cussed politics,  and  another  young  man  who  talked 
of  women,  not  infrequently  all  three  together,  to  my 
infinite  pleasure,  because  that  school-boy  sort  of 
meeting,  at  times,  refreshes  my  soul,  as  does  the  sum- 
mer shower  (to  steal  a  beautiful  comparison)  when  it 
falls  with  quickened  motion  on  the  grass. 

If  I  were  obliged  to  say  any  thing  about  the  people 
of  Granada,  I  should  really  be  quite  embarrassed, 
because  I  did  not  see  them.  During  the  day,  I  never 
met  any  one  in  the  street,  and  at  night  one  could 
not  see  them.  No  theatres  were,  open,  and  when  I 
might  have  found  some  one  in  the  city,  I  was  wan- 
derinof  through  the  halls  or  avenues  of  the  Alham- 
bra.  Then,  too,  I  had  so  much  to  do  to  see  every 
thing  in  the  time  I  had  allowed  myself,  that  there 
were  no  odd  moments  when  I  could  have  beeun  a 
conversation,  as  I  did  in  other  cities,  in  the  streets 
or  cafes,  with  the  common  people  upon  whom  I  hap- 
pened to  stumble. 

Judging  from  all  that  I  heard  of  the  Granada 
people  from  those  who  were  able  to  give  me  reliable 
information  concerning  them,  I  should  say  that  they 
do  not  enjoy  an  excellent  reputation  in  Spain.  They 
are  said  to  be  bad-tempered,  violent,  vindictive,  and 


GRANADA.  4O9 

given  to  the  use  of  the  knife,  which  is  not  contra- 
dicted by  the  city  chronicles  in  the  papers,  and  it  is 
well  known,  although  not  said,  that  popular  educa- 
tion is  less  general  here  than  in  Seville,  or  even 
other  small  Spanish  cities.  Then,  too,  every  thing 
which  cannot  be  done  by  the  sun  and  ground  (which 
do  so  much),  goes  to  the  bad,  either  through  indo- 
lence, icrnorance,  or  confusion.  Granada  is  not  con- 
nected  by  railway  with  any  important  city.  She  lives 
alone,  in  the  midst  of  her  gardens,  within  the  circle 
of  her  mountains,  rejoicing  in  the  fruits  which  the 
earth  produces  under  her  hand,  rocking  herself 
softly  in  the  vanity  of  her  beauty  and  pride  of 
her  history,  idling,  dozing,  dreaming,  and  con- 
tenting herself  by  replying  with  a  yawn  to  any  one 
who  reproves  her  for  her  condition  :  "  I  gave  to 
Spain  the  painter  Alonzo  Cano,  the  poet  Luis  di 
Leon,  the  historian  Fernando  di  Castillo,  the  sacred 
orator  Luis  di  Granada,  and  the  minister  Martinez 
de  la  Rosas  ;  I  have  paid  my  debt ;  leave  me  in 
peace !  "  a  reply  made  by  most  of  the  southern 
cities  of  Spain,  so  much  more  beautiful  than  wise  or 
industrious,  alas !  and  so  much  prouder  than  civil- 
ized. Ah!  no  one  who  has  seen  them  can  refrain 
from  exclaiming  :   "What  a  shame!  " 

"  Now  that  you  have  seen  all  the  marvels  of  Ara- 
bian art  and  tropical  vegetation,  you  must  see  the 
suburb  of  the  Albaycin,  in  order  to  say  that  you 
know  Granada.  Prepare  your  mind  for  a  new 
world  ;  put  your  hand  on  your  pocket-book,  and 
follow  me." 

So  said  Gongora,  the  last  afternoon  of  my  stay  in 
Granada.  We  had  with  us  a  young  journalist,  Mel- 
chiorre  Almago  by  name,  director  of  the  Idea,  a 
charming,  agreeable  fellow,  who,  in  order  to  accom- 


4IO  SPAIN: 

pany  us,  sacrificed  his  dinner,  and  an  editorial,  which 
he  had  been  thinkino;-  over  since  morninof.  We 
started  out,  and  reached  the  square  of  the  Audicncia. 
There  Gongora  pointed  out  a  tortuous  road  which 
mounts  a  hill,  and  said  to  me  : 

"  The  Albayciii  begins  here ;"  and  Melchiorre, 
touching  a  house  with  his  stick,  added  : 

"  Here  commences  the  territory  of  the  republic." 

We  passed  through  the  narrow  street,  from  this 
into  another,  then  into  a  third,  climbing-  all  the  time, 
without  my  seeing  any  thing  extraordinary,  although 
I  was  looking  curiously  about  me  on  all  sides. 
There  were  narrow  streets,  miserable  houses,  old 
women  asleep  on  the  doorsteps,  mammas  who  were 
examining  their  children's  heads,  dogs  which  were 
yawning,  cocks  crowing,  ragged  boys  running  and 
screaming,  and  other  things  that  are  always  seen  in 
suburbs,  but  so  far  there  was  nothing  else.  Little 
by  little,  as  we  climbed,  the  aspect  of  the  houses  and 
people  began  changing  :  the  roofs  were  lower,  the 
windows  fewer,  the  doors  smaller,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants more  ragged.  In  the  middle  of  every  street 
ran  a  rivulet  in  a  walled  bed  in  the  Arab  style  ;  here 
and  there,  above  the  doors,  and  around  the  win- 
dows, one  could  still  see  arabesques,  and  fragments 
of  little  columns  ;  and  in  the  corners  of  the  squares 
were  mountains  and  walls  of  the  time  of  the  Moor- 
ish dominion.  At  every  hundred  steps  we  seemed 
to  be  going  back  fifty  years,  toward  the  time  of  the 
Caliphs.  My  two  companions  touched  my  elbow 
from  time  to  time,  saying  : 

"  Look  at  that  old  woman — that  child— that  man." 

And  I  looked,  and  asked  : 

"  What  kind  of  people  are  those  ?  " 

If  I  had  found  myself  there  suddenly,  I   should 


GRANADA.  4 1  I 

have  fancied,  in  seeing  those  men  and  women,  that 
I  was  in  an  African  village,  so  different  were  the 
faces,  manner  of  dressing,  moving,  speaking,  and 
looking  (at  such  a  short  distance  from  the  centre  of 
Granada),  from  those  of  the  people  whom  I  had 
come  in  contact  with  up  to  that  time.  At  each 
turn  I  stopped  to  look  in  the  faces  of  my  compan- 
ions, who  said  to  me  : 

"  This  is  nothing  ;  we  are  still  in  the  civilized 
portion  of  the  Albaycin  ;  this  is  the  Parisian 
quarter  of  the  suburb.     Let  us  go  on  !  " 

On  we  went ;  the  streets  looked  like  the  beds  of 
a  stream,  or  paths  dug  out  of  the  rock,  were  all  ele- 
vations or  ditches,  mounds,  and  stones  ;  some  of 
them  so  steep  that  a  mule  could  not  climb  them  ; 
others  so  narrow  that  a  man  could  scarcely  pass  ; 
others,  still,  filled  with  womien  and  children  seated 
on  the  ground  ;  and  again,  they  were  moss-grown, 
deserted,  and  wearing  a  bleak,  savage,  strange  aspect, 
of  which  our  most  miserable  villages  could  furnish  no 
idea,  because  this  is  the  poverty  that  bears  the  im- 
print of  another  race  and  the  colors  of  another  con- 
tinent. We  wandered  through  a  labyrinth  of  streets, 
passing,  from  time  to  time,under  a  great  Arabian  arch, 
or  through  a  high  square,  from  which  we  could  take 
in  at  a  glance  the  immense  valleys,  mountains  cov- 
ered with  snow,  and  a  portion  of  the  city  below,  and, 
finally,  reaching  the  end  of  a  street,  stonier  and 
more  narrow  than  any  we  had  yet  seen.  We 
stopped  to  take  breath. 

"  Here,"  said  the  young  archeologist,  "  the  real 
Albaycin  begins.     Look  at  that  house  !  " 

I  obeyed  ;  it  was  a  low,  smoky,  and  half-ruined 
dwellinof,  with  a  door  resemblinof  a  cellar  window, 
before  which  we  could  see  moving,  under  a  mass  of 


412  SPAIN. 

rags,  a  group,  or  rather  a  heap  of  old  women  and 
children,  who,  at  our  appearance,  raised  their  sleepy 
eyes,  and,  with  fleshless  hands,  removed  from  the 
sill  some  filth  that  impeded  our  progress. 

"  Let  us  enter,"  said  my  friend. 

"  Enter  ?"  I  asked. 

If  they  had  told  me  that  beyond  that  wall  there 
was  a  duplicate  of  the  famous  Court  of  Miracles  de- 
scribed by  Victor  Hugo,  I  should  not  have  hesitated 
to  believe  them.  No  door  had  ever  said  more  im- 
peratively to  me:  "Keep  back!"  I  can  find  no 
better  comparison  than  that  of  the  wide  open  mouth 
of  a  gigantic  witch,  which  exhaled  a  breath  full  of 
pestilential  miasmas.  However,  I  took  courage,  and 
entered. 

Oh,  marvel  of  marvels !  It  was  the  court  of  an 
Arabian  house,  surrounded  by  graceful  little  columns, 
surmounted  by  very  light  arches,  with  those  inde- 
scribable traceries  of  the  Alhambra  around  the 
small  doors  and  mullion  windows,  the  beams  and 
partitions  of  the  ceiling  sculptured  and  colored, 
niches  for  vases  of  flowers  and  perfume  urns,  the 
bath  in  the  centre,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  traces  of  the 
delicious  life  of  an  opulent  family.  That  house  was 
inhabited  by  poor  people  ! 

We  came  out,  entered  other  houses,  and  found  in 
all  of  them  some  fragments  of  Arabian  sculpture  and 
architecture.  Gongora  said  to  me,  from  time  to 
time  :  "  Here  there  was  a  harem  ;  there  the  women's 
bath  ;  up  there  the  little  room  of  a  favorite."  And 
I  fastened  my  hungry  eyes  on  all  those  bits  of  ara- 
besqued  wall  and  the  small  columns  of  the  windows, 
as  if  to  ask  them  the  revelation  of  some  secret,  a 
name,  or  a  magic  word  with  which  I  could  recon- 
struct in  an  instant  the  ruined  edifices,  and   invoke 


GRANADA.  413 

the  beautiful  Arabian  women  who  had  lived  there. 
But,  alas  !  amid  the  columns  and  under  the  arches 
of  the  windows  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  rags  and 
wrinkled  faces ! 

Among  other  houses,  we  entered  one  in  which  we 
found  a  group  of  girls  who  were  sewing  under  the 
shade  of  a  tree  in  the  court,  guarded  by  an  old  wo- 
man. They  were  all  working  upon  a  large  piece  of 
black  and  white  striped  cloth,  which  looked  like  a 
carpet  or  bed  cover.  I  approached  and  asked  one 
of  the  seamstresses  : 

"  What  Is  that  ?  " 

They  all  raised  their  heads,  and,  with  one  accord, 
unfolded  the  cloth  so  that  I  could  see  their  work 
well.     As  soon  as  I  saw  It,  I  cried  : 

"  I  will  buy  it." 

They  began  laughing.  It  was  the  mantle  of  an 
Andalusian  mountaineer,  made  to  wear  on  horse- 
back. In  the  shape  of  a  right  angle,  with  an  aperture 
In  the  middle  through  which  to  pass  the  head,  em- 
broidered In  brio^ht-colored  wools  alonsf  the  two 
shortest  sides  and  around  the  opening.  The  design 
of  the  embroideries,  representing  fantastic  birds  and 
flowers,  green,  blue,  white,  red,  and  yellow,  all  In  a 
mass,  was  rough  as  a  child  would  make  it ;  but  the 
beauty  of  the  work  lies  in  the  perfect  harmony  of 
the  colors.  I  cannot  describe  the  feellno-  which  the 
sight  of  that  mantle  produced,  unless  I  say  that  It 
laughs  and  arouses  gaiety,  and  that  It  seems  impos- 
sible to  Imagine  any  thing  gayer,  brighter,  or  more 
childishly  and  gracefully  capricious.  It  is  a  thing  to 
look  at  when  one  wishes  to  get  out  of  bad  humor, 
to  write  a  lovely  strophe  In  a  lady's  album,  or  is  ex- 
pecting a  person  whom  he  desires  to  receive  with  a 
most  pleasing  smile. 


414  SPAIN. 

"  When  will  these  embroideries  be  done  ? "  I 
asked  one  of  the  girls. 

"  To-day,"  they  all  replied  in  chorus. 

"■  What  is  this  mantle  worth  ?  " 

"  Five  .  .  .  .  "  stammered  one  of  them. 

The  old  woman  shot  a  glance  at  her  that  "was 
meant  to  say  :  "  You  goose  !  "  and  replied  hastily: 

"  Six  dttros." 

Six  duros  are  thirty  lire  ;  it  did  not  seem  much  to 
me.  and  I  put  my  hand  on  my  pocket-book. 

Gongora,  giving  me  a  glance  that  said  ,  "  You  stu- 
pid," and  holding  me  back  by  the  arm,  said  : 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  six  duros  are  entirely  too 
much  !  " 

The  old  woman  gave  him  a  glance  that  meant, 
**  brigand  !  "  and  replied  : 

"  I  cannot  orive  it  for  less." 

Then  Gongora  looked  at  her,  as  much  as  to  say : 
"  What  a  fib !"  and  remarked  : 

"  Come  now,  you  can  give  it  for  four  duros  ;  you 
do  not  ask  any  more  from  the  people  of  the  coun- 
try." 

The  old  woman  was  persistent,  and  we  continued 
for  a  time  to  exchange  with  the  eyes  such  polite 
titles  as  stupid,  swindler,  spoil-trade,  liar,  miser,  and 
spendthrift,  until  the  mantle  was  sold  me  for  five 
dtiros.  I  paid  the  sum,  gave  my  address,  and  we 
left  blessed  and  recommended  to  God  by  the  old 
woman,  and  followed  for  a  good  distance  by  the 
great  black  eyes  of  the  embroiderers. 

We  continued  walking  from  street  to  street, 
among  more  and  more  miserable  houses,  blacker 
and  blacker  faces,  and  more  disgusting  rags.  We 
never  seemed  to  reach  the  end,  and  I  said  to  my 
companions  : 


GRANADA.  415 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  whether  Granada  has 
any  confines,  and  where  they  are.  May  one  ask 
where  we  are  going,  and  how  we  shall  manage  to 
get  home  again  ?  " 

But  my  friends  only  laughed  and  kept  on. 

"'  Is  there  any  thing  stranger  to  be  seen  ?  "  I  asked, 
at  a  certain  pomt. 

"Stranger?"  they  both  replied.  "This  second 
quarter  of  the  borough  which  you  have  seen  still 
belongs  to  civilization  ;  it  is,  if  not  the  Parisian,  at 
least  the  Madrid  quarter  of  the  Albaycin  ;  there  is 
decidedly  more  to  see,  so  let  us  go  on." 

We  passed  through  a  very  long  street  filled  with 
half-clothed  women,  who  looked  at  us  as  if  we  were 
people  who  had  fallen  from  the  moon  ;  crossed  a 
small  square  full  of  children  and  pigs,  quite  amicably 
mixed  ;  went  on  through  two  or  three  wretched  little 
alleys,  now  climbing,  now  descending,  now  among 
houses,  now  among  ruins,  now  among  trees,  or  now 
among  rocks,  and  finally  reached  a  solitary  place  on 
the  slope  of  a  hill,  from  whence  we  saw  opposite  us 
the  Generalife,  on  the  right  the  Alhambra,  and  be- 
low a  deep  valley  covered  with  a  thick  grove. 

It  began  to  grow  dark,  no  one  was  to  be  seen,  and 
not  a  voice  was  heard. 

"  Does  the  borough  end  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

My  two  companions  laughed,  and  replied  : 

"  Look  on  that  side." 

I  turned,  and  saw  a  street  which  was  lost  in  a  dis- 
tant thicket,  and  endless  row  of  houses  ...  of 
houses  ?  I  should  say  caves  dug  in  the  earth,  with 
a  little  wall  in  front,  some  holes  for  windows,  and 
cracks  for  doors,  and  wild  plants  of  every  kind  on 
all  sides.  They  were  the  dens  of  beasts,  in  which,  by 
the   reflection   of  small  lights,  scarcely  visible,    we 


4l6  SPAIN. 

could  see  the  gitani  swarming  by  the  hundred, — a 
people  living  in  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  poorer, 
blacker,  and  more  savage  than  any  yet  seen.  An- 
other city,  unknown  to  the  majority  of  the  Grana- 
dines,  inaccessible  to  the  agents  of  the  police,  shut 
to  those  who  take  the  census,  ignorant  of  every  law 
or  government,  existing  one  knows  not  how,  in  un- 
told numbers,  strange  to  the  city,  Spain,  and  modern 
civilization,  with  a  language  and  usages  of  their  own, 
superstitious,  false,  thievish,  mischievous,  and  fero- 
cious. 

"  Button  up  your  overcoat ;  look  out  for  your 
watch,"  said  Gongora  ;  "  and  let  us  move  on." 

We  had  not  taken  a  hundred  steps,  when  a  half- 
naked  boy,  black  as  the  walls  of  his  den,  espied  us, 
uttered  a  cry,  and  making  some  sign  to  the  other 
boys  to  follow  him,  dashed  toward  us.  Behind  the 
boys  came  women  ;  behind  the  women  men  ;  then 
old  men  and  women  with  children,  and  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  we  were  surrounded  by  a 
crowd.  My  two  friends,  recognized  as  Granadines, 
succeeded  in  making  their  escape,  and  I  alone  was 
caught.  I  seem  to  see  yet  those  ugly  faces,  to  hear 
those  voices,  and  feel  all  those  hands  upon  me. 
Gesticulating,  shouting,  saying  a  thousand  things  I 
could  not  understand,  dragging  me  by  the  coat-tails, 
waistcoat,  and  sleeves,  they  pressed  on  to  me  like  a 
troop  of  famished  people,  breathed  in  my  face,  and 
took  away  my  breath.  The  majority  of  them  were 
semi-nude,  thin,  with  shirts  torn  into  fragments,  dis- 
hevelled and  dusty  hair,  and  so  horrible  to  look 
upon,  that  I  felt  as  if  I  were  Don  Roderick  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd  of  the  plague-stricken,  in  that 
famous  dream  of  the  August  night. 

"  What  do  these  people  want  ?  "    I  asked  myself. 


GRANADA.  417 

"  Where  have  I  allowed  m)'self  to  be  brought  ? 
How  shall  I  get  out  of  this  ?"  I  really  experienced 
almost  a  feeling  of  terror,  and  looked  around  un- 
easily. Little  by  little  I  began  to  understand  some- 
thing. 

"  I  have  a  sore  on  my  shoulder,"  said  one ;  '*  I 
cannot  work  ;  give  me  some  money." 

"  I  have  broken  my  leg,"  said  another. 

"  I  have  a  paralyzed  arm." 

"  I  have  had  a  long  illness." 

"  Un  cuarto,  scnorito  !  " 

"  C/ji  real,  caballero  !  " 

"  Un  peseta  para  todos  f" 

This  last  suoro-estion  was  oreeted  with  a  shout  of 

00  o 

approval, 

"  Uji  peseta  para  todos  !  "  (a  lira  for  all  of  us). 

I  drew  out  my  portemonnaie  with  a  little  trepida- 
tion ;  all  got  on  tip-toe  ;  the  nearest  poked  their 
chins  into  it  ;  those  behind  placed  their  chins  on  the 
heads  of  the  first,  and  the  most  distant  stretched  out 
their  arms. 

"  One  moment,"  I  cried  ;  "  who  has  the  most  au- 
thority among  you  ?  " 

All  with  one  voice,  pointing  toward  a  single  per- 
son, replied,  "  That  one  !  " 

She  was  a  frightful  old  woman,  all  nose  and  chin, 
with  a  ofreat  bunch  of  white  hair  standinof  straisfht 
up  on  her  head  like  a  plume,  a  mouth  that  looked 
like  a  letter  box,  very  little  clothing  on,  black,  shriv- 
elled, and  dried  up.  She  approached  me,  bowing, 
smilinof,  and  stretching  out  her  hand  to  take  mine. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "   I  asked,  stepping  back. 

"  To  tell  your  fortune,"  they  all  shouted. 

"  Well,  then,  tell  my  fortune,"  I  replied,  extend- 
ing my  hand. 


41 8  SPAIN. 

The  old  woman  took,  in  her  ten,  I  cannot  say 
fingers,  but  shapeless  bones,  my  poor  hand,  placed 
her  sharp  nose  upon  it,  raised  her  head,  looked  fix- 
edly at  me,  pointed  her  finger  at  me  ;  swaying  her- 
self, and  stopping  at  every  sentence,  as  if  she  were 
reciting  verses,  she  said  to  me,  in  an  inspired 
tone  : 

"  You  were  born  on  an  auspicious  day." 

•'  The  day  you  die  will  be  a  notable  one." 

"  You  possess  immense  wealth." 

Here  she  muttered  something  about  sweethearts, 
weddings,  happiness,  from  which  I  gathered  that  she 
supposed  me  to  be  married,  and  then  added  : 

"  The  day  you  married  there  was  a  great  festival 
at  your  house  ;  there  was  giving  and  taking." 

"  Another  woman  wept." 

"  And  when  you  see  her  the  wings  of  your  heart 
open." 

On  she  went  in  this  way,  saying  that  I  had  sweet- 
hearts, friends,  treasures,  and  jewels  awaiting  me 
each  day  in  the  year  at  every  corner  of  the  globe. 
While  the  old  woman  was  speaking,  all  were  silent, 
as  if  they  believed  she  was  prophesying  truly.  Fin- 
ally she  closed  her  prophecy  with  a  formula  of 
dismissal,  and  ended  the  formula  by  stretching  out 
her  arms  and  taking  a  leap  in  a  dancing  attitude.  I 
gave  th^  peseta,  and  the  crowd  broke  out  into  a  shout, 
applause,  and  songs,  making  a  thousand  strange  ges- 
tures around  me,  saluting  me  with  pokes  and  slaps 
on  the  shoulder,  like  old  friends,  until,  by  force  of 
twisting  and  striking  right  and  left,  I  succeeded  in 
opening  a  passage  and  reaching  my  friends.  Here, 
however,  a  new  peril  threatened  us.  The  notice  of 
the  arrival  of  a  stranger  had  spread  abroad,  the  tribe 
was  in  motion,  and  the  city  of  the  gypsies  was  in  an 


GRANADA.  419 

uproar.  From  the  neighboring  houses,  distant  dens, 
the  top  of  the  hills,  and  bottom  of  the  valleys, 
flocked  boys,  women  with  children  in  their  arms,  old 
men  with  sticks,  lame  and  sick  impostors,  and  septua- 
genarian fortune-tellers  wishing  to  tell  fortunes  ;  a 
crowd  of  beggars,  in  fact,  who  rushed  upon  us  from 
all  sides.  It  was  night ;  there  was  no  time  for  hesi- 
tation ;  we  took  to  our  heels,  and  ran  like  school- 
boys in  the  direction  of  the  city.  Then  such  a  fiend- 
ish burst  of  shouts  broke  out,  and  the  fleetest  began 
following  us.  Thanks  to  heaven,  after  a  short  gal- 
lop we  found  ourselves  out  of  danger,  but  tired, 
breathless,  and  covered  with  dust. 

"  We  had  to  escape  at  any  cost,"  said  Sefior  Mel- 
chiorre  laughingly  to  me,  "  or  else  we  should  have 
returned  home  in  a  shirtless  condition." 

"  And  remember,"  added  Gongora,  "  that  we  have 
only  seen  the  gates  of  the  gypsy  quarter,— the  civil- 
ized portion  ;  not  the  Paris  or  Madrid,  but,  at  least, 
the  Granada  of  the  Albaycin.  If  we  had  only  been 
able  to  go  on  !  If  you  could  only  have  seen  the 
rest !  " 

"  How   many   thousands   are  there  of  these   peo- 
ple ?  "   I  asked. 
"  No  one  knows." 
"  How  do  they  live  ?  " 
"  We  cannot  understand  that  either." 
"  What  authority  do  they  recognize  ?  " 
"  Only  one — the   kings,  heads  of  the   families  or 
houses,    those   who    are   oldest    or    have    the    most 
money.      They   never    leave    their    quarter,   know 
nothing,  and   live   quite   in   the  dark  as  far  as  any 
thing   outside   the    circuit    of  their    houses    is   con- 
cerned.    Dynasties  fall,  governments  change,  armies 
fight,  and  it  is  a   miracle  if  the  news  ever  reaches 


420  SPAIN. 

their  ears.  Ask  them  whether  Isabella  is  on  the 
throne  or  not ;  they  do  not  know.  Ask  them  who 
Don  Amadeus  is  ;  they  have  never  heard  his  name. 
They  are  born  and  die  like  flies,  and  live  as  they  did 
centuries  ago,  multiplying  without  leaving  their  own 
boundaries,  ignorant  and  unknown,  seeing  nothing 
during  all  their  life  save  the  valleys  lying  at  their 
feet  and  the  Alhambra  which  towers  above  their 
heads." 

We  returned  by  the  streets  through  which  we  had 
come,  now  so  dark  and  deserted  that  it  seemed  as  if 
they  were  unending.  We  climbed,  descended, 
twisted,  and  turned,  and  finally  reached  the  square 
of  the  Audiencia,  in  the  centre  of  Granada.  We 
were  once  more  in  the  civilized  world.  At  the  sight 
of  the  cafes  and  lighted  shops,  I  experienced  the 
same  feeling  of  pleasure  that  I  would  have  done  in 
returning  to  city  life  after  a  year's  sojourn  in  an  un- 
inhabited country. 

The  following  day  I  left  for  Valencia.  I  remem- 
ber that  a  few  moments  before  starting,  while  paying 
my  hotel  bill,  I  remarked  to  the  landlord  that  one 
candle  too  much  had  been  charged,  and  asked  him, 
laughingly  : 

'"will  you  take  it  off?" 

He  seized  his  pen,  and  subtracting  twenty  cen- 
times from  the  total,  replied  in  a  voice  intended  to 
convey  emotion  : 

"  Diavolo !  amone  Italians  .  .  .  . ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

VALENCIA. 

THE  journey  from  Granada  to  Valencia,  taken  all 
de  7111  tiron,  as  they  say  in  Spain  (or  all  in  one 
breath),  is  an  amusement  in  which  a  sensible  man 
only  indulges  once  during  his  life.  From  Granada  to 
Menjibar,  a  village  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  between  Jaen  and  Andujar,  is  a  night's  ride 
in  a  diligence.  From  Menjibar  to  the  Alcazar  of  San 
Juan  takes  a  half  day  on  the  railway,  in  a  carriage 
without  curtains,  across  a  plain  as  bare  as  the  palm 
of  one's  hand,  and  under  a  scorchino-  sun.  From 
Alcazar  del  San  Juan  to  Valencia  (counting  an  entire 
evening  passed  at  the  station  of  the  Alcazar  waiting 
for  the  train)  is  another  night  and  morning  be- 
fore you  reach  the  desired  city  at  noonday,  when 
nature,  as  Emile  Praga  would  say,  recoils  at  the  hor- 
rible idea  that  there  are  still  four  months  of  sum- 
mer. 

Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  country  one 
passes  through  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
this  journey  is  so  beautiful,  that  if  the  traveller  were 
capable  of  any  sentiment  when  nearly  dead  with 
sleep  and  exhausted  from  the  intense  heat,  he 
would  be  very  enthusiastic  about  it.  It  is  a  journey 
of  unexpected  views,  sudden  changes,  strange  con- 
trasts, spectacular  effects  of  nature,  if  I  may  so  ex- 

421 


422  SPAIN. 

press  myself,  and  marvellous  and  fantastic  transfor- 
mations, which  leave  in  the  mind  a  vague  illusion  of 
having  traversed  not  a  portion  of  Spain,  but  the 
most  varied  countries  of  an  entire  meridian.  From 
the  Vega  of  Granada,  which  you  cross  in  the  moon- 
light, almost  opening  a  road  for  yoursel-f  through  the 
groves  and  gardens,  in  the  midst  of  a  luxuriant 
vegetation  crowding  around  you,  like  an  angry  sea, 
to  envelop  and  swallow  you  up  in  its  breakers  of 
verdure  ;  you  come  out  among  bare  and  rocky 
mountains,  where  not  a  trace  of  human  habitation 
is  to  be  found,  clear  the  edge  of  precipices,  follow 
the  banks  of  torrents,  run  along  the  bottom  of 
chasms,  and  seem  to  be  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  rocks. 
From  here  you  emerge  again  among  the  green  hills 
and  flowery  fields  of  upper  Andalusia,  and  then  sud- 
denly the  fields  and  hills  disappear,  and  you  find 
yourself  in  the  midst  of  the  stony  mountains  of  the 
Sierra  Morena,  which  hang  over  your  head,  and 
shut  in  the  horizon  on  all  sides,  like  the  walls  of  an 
immense  abyss.  You  leave  the  Sierra  Morena  and 
the  barren  plains  of  the  Mancha  spread  out  before 
you.  After  crossing  the  Mancha,  you  pass  through 
the  flowery  plains  of  Almansa,  varied  by  every  kind 
of  cultivation,  which  presents  the  appearance  of  a 
chess-board,  painted  with  all  the  shades  of  green 
that  can  be  found  on  the  palette  of  a  landscape 
painter.  Finally,  beyond  the  Almansa  plain,  there 
opens  a  delicious  oasis,  a  land  blessed  by  God,  a 
veritable  paradise,  the  kingdom  of  Valencia.  From 
this  point  to  the  city  you  move  on  amid  gardens, 
vineyards,  thick  groves  of  orange  trees,  white  villas 
surmounted  by  terraces,  gay  villages,  all  painted  in 
bright  colors,  in  groups  and  rows  ;  thickets  of  palms, 
pomegranates,  aloes,  and  sugar-cane,  endless  hedges 


VALENCIA.  423 

of  Indian  figs,  long  chains  of  hills,  cone-shaped 
heights,  converted  into  kitchen,  flower-gardens,  and 
swards  ;  all  these  divided  minutely  from  top  to  bot- 
tom, and  as  variegated  as  bunches  of  grass  and 
flowers.  Everywhere,  in  fact,  there  is  a  luxurious 
vegetation,  which  covers  every  vacancy,  overtops 
every  height,  clothes  each  projection,  rises,  waves, 
sweeps  along,  crowds  together,  interlaces,  impedes 
the  view,  shuts  in  the  road,  dazzles  you  with  green, 
wearies  you  with  beauty,  confuses  you  with  its 
caprices  and  tricks,  and  produces  the  effect  of  a 
sudden  upheaving  of  earth  seized  by  a  fever,  from 
the  fire  of  a  secret  volcano ! 

The  first  building  you  see,  upon  entering  Valen- 
cia, is  an  immense  bull  circus,  situated  on  the  right 
of  the  railway,  formed  by  four  rows  of  arches,  one 
above  the  other,  supported  by  large  pilasters,  built 
of  brick,  and   resembling,  in   the   distance,  the  Col- 
osseum.   It  is  the  bull  circus,  where,  on  the  fourth  of 
September,   1871,  King   Amadeus,  in   the   presence 
of  seventeen  thousand  people,  shook  hands  with  the 
celebrated  torero,  called  Tato,  who  had  but  one  leg, 
and  who,  being  the   director  of   the    spectacle,  had 
asked  permission  to  present  his  homage  in  the  royal 
box.     Valencia  is  full  of  souvenirs   of  the   Duke  de 
Aosta.     The  sacristan   of  the  cathedral  possesses  a 
gold  chronometer,  with  his  initials  in  diamonds,  and 
a  chain  with  pearls,  given  him  by  the  duke  when  he 
went  to  pray  in  the  chapel  of  Ahicstra  Sefiora  de  los 
Desamparados  {^Mother  of  the  Forsaken  or  Desolate). 
In  the  asylum  of  this  name  the  poor  remember  hav- 
ing once  received  their   daily  bread   from   him.     In 
the  mosaic  manufactory  of  one  Nolla  are  preserved 
two  bricks,  upon  one  of  which  he  cut  his  own  name, 


424  SPAIN. 

and  on  the  other  that  of  the  queen.  In  the  Plaza  di 
Tetuan  the  people  point  out  the  house  of  Count  di 
Cevellon,  in  which  he  was  entertained,  and  which 
is  the  same  house  where  Ferdinand  VII,  in  1824, 
signed  the  decrees  annulling  the  Constitution,  where 
Queen  Christina  abdicated  in  1840,  and  where 
Queen  Isabella  passed  several  days  in  i858.  In 
fact,  there  is  not  a  corner  of  the  city  in  which  one 
cannot  say  :  "  Here  he  pressed  the  hand  of  a  com- 
mon man  ;  here  he  visited  a  hospital  ;  and  here 
he  passed  on  foot,  far  away  from  his  suite,  and 
surrounded  by  a  crowd,  but  trustful,  calm,  and  smil- 

It  was  just  at  Valencia,  since  I  am  speaking 
of  the  Duke  de  Aosta,  that  a  child  of  five,  reciting 
some  verses,  touched  on  the  terrible  subject  of  a 
foreign  king,  with  the  noblest  and  most  sensible 
words  that  have,  perhaps,  been  uttered  in  Spain  for 
many  years  ;  words  which,  if  Spain  had  remem- 
bered and  meditated  upon,  might  perhaps  have 
saved  her  from  many  of  the  calamities  that  have 
come,  and  may  come  to  her  ;  words  that,  per- 
chance, some  day,  Spaniards  will  remember  with  a 
sigh,  and  which  up  to  this  time  draw  from  events  a 
marvellous  light  of  truth  and  beauty.  The  poem  is 
entitled  God  and  the  King,  and  runs  thus  : 


"  Dios,  en  iodo  Sober a7io, 
Creo  un  dia  a  los  mortales, 

Y  a  todos  nos  hizo  iguales 
Con  su  poderosa  mano. 

No  reconocio  Naciones 
Ni  colores  ni  matices, 

Y  en  ver  los  hombres  felices 
Cifr6  sus  aspiraciones. 


VALENCIA.  425 

El  Rey,  che  su  imagen  es, 
Su  bondad  debe  iniitar; 
Y  el  pueblo  no  ha  de  indagar 
Si  es  aleman  6  frances. 


Porque  con  ceno  ir?cundo 
Recharzarle  siendo  bueno  ? 
Un  Rey  de  bondades  lleno 
Tiene  por  sa  patria  el  mundo. 

Vino  de  nacion  estrana 
Carlos  Quinto  emperador, 

Y  conquisto  su  valor 

Mil  laureles  para  Espana. 

Y  es  un  recuerdo  glorioso 
Aunque  en  guerra  cimentado, 
El  venturoso  reinado 

De  Felipe  el  Animoso. 

Hoy  el  tercero  sois  Vos 
Nacido  en  estraiio  suelo 
Que  vieno  a  ver  nuestro  cielo 
Puro  destello  de  Dios. 

Al  rayo  de  nuestro  sol 
Sed  bueno,  justo,  y  leal, 
Que  a  un  Rey  bueno  y  liberal 
Adora  el  pueblo  espanol. 

Y  a  vuestra  frente  el  trofeo 
Cenid  de  perpetua  gloria, 
Para  que  diga  la  historia 
Fue  grande  el  Rey  Aniadeo." 


See  appendix  for  translation. 


Oh,   poor  little  girl,  how  many  wise  things  you 
said,  and  how  many  insensate  ones  others  did ! 


426  SPAIN. 

The  city  of  Valencia,  if  we  enter  it  thinking  over 
the  ballads  of  the  poets  who  sang  of  its  marvels, 
does  not  seem  to  correspond  with  the  beautiful  idea 
formed  of  it ;  and  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  has 
none  of  that  gloomy  appearance  for  which  we  pre- 
pare ourselves,  when  we  think  more  of  its  just  fame 
as  a  turbulent,  warlike  city,  the  fomenter  of  civil 
wars,  one  rather  preferring  the  smell  of  powder  to 
the  fragrance  of  its  orange  groves.  It  is  a  city  built 
on  a  vast  and  arid  plain  on  the  bank  of  the  Guad- 
alquiver,  which  separates  it  from  its  suburbs,  a  short 
distance  from  the  bay,  which  serves  as  a  harbor, 
all  tortuous  streets,  flanked  by  high,  ugly,  and  many- 
colored  houses,  and  therefore  less  pleasing  in  ap- 
pearance than  the  streets  of  most  Andalusian  cities, 
and  entirely  lacking  in  that  lovely  oriental  aspect  so 
pleasing  to  the  fancy.  On  the  left  bank  of  the  river 
is  an  immense  promenade  formed  by  majestic  ave- 
nues and  beautiful  gardens,  which  are  reached  by 
leaving  the  city  through  the  gate  of  the  Cid,  flanked 
by  two  great  embattled  towers  named  after  the 
hero  because  he  passed  through  it  in  1094  after 
having  driven  the  Arabs  from  Valencia.  The  cathe- 
dral, erected  on  the  spot  once  occupied  by  a  tem- 
ple of  Diana  in  the  time  of  the  Romans,  then  by  a 
church  dedicated  to  St.  Salvador  in  the  time  of  the 
Goths,  then  by  a  mosque  in  the  time  of  the  Arabs, 
converted  again  into  a  church  by  the  Cid,  changed  a 
second  time  into  a  mosque  by  the  Arabs  in  iioi, 
and  for  a  third  time  into  a  church  by  King  Don 
Jayme  after  the  definite  expulsion  of  the  invaders,  is  a 
large  edifice,  very  rich  in  ornaments  and  treasures, 
but  cannot  in  the  least  compare  with  the  majority  of 
Spanish  cathedrals.  There  are  several  palaces  worth 
seeing,  such  as  the  palace  of  the  Andicncia,  a  beau- 
tiful monument  of  the  sixteenth  century,  in  which  the 


VALENCIA.  427 

Cortes  of  the  kingdom  of  Valencia  were  convened  ; 
the  Casa  de  Ayiintamicnto,  built  between  the  fif- 
teenth and  sixteenth  centuries,  in  which  Don  Jayme's 
sword  is  preserved,  together  with  the  keys  of  the 
city  and  the  banner  of  the  Moors ;  and,  above  all, 
the  Lonja,  or  merchants'  Bo2ii'se,  on  account  of  its 
noted  room,  formed  by  three  great  naves,  divided 
by  twenty-four  twisted  columns,  over  which  curve  the 
light  arches  of  the  ceilings,  producing  a  pleasant  and 
harmonious  effect  upon  the  eye.  Last  of  all  is  a 
picture-gallery,  which  is  not  one  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant ones  of  Spain. 

To  tell  the  truth,  however,  during  the  few  days  I 
remained  at  Valencia  w^aiting  for  the  ship,  my  head 
was  more  full  of  politics  than  art,  and  I  experienced 
the  truth  of  the  words  of  an  illustrious  Italian,  who 
is  thoroughly  at  home  in  Spain  :  "  The  stranger," 
he  says,  "  who  lives  only  for  a  short  time  in  Spain, 
becomes,  little  by  little,  without  being  aware  of  it, 
intensely  interested  in  politics,  as  if  Spain  were  his 
own  country,  or  the  fate  of  his  own  country  de- 
pended upon  that  of  Spain.  The  passions  are  so 
strong,  the  struggle  so  fierce,  and  the  future  wel- 
fare and  life  of  the  nation  are  so  evidentl)-  at  stake  in 
this  same  struggle,  that  it  is  not  possible  for  any  one 
with  Latin  blood  in  his  veins  to  remain  an  indiffer- 
ent spectator.  He  must  take  part,  talk  at  meetings, 
be  affected  by  the  elections,  join  the  crowd  which  is 
making  political  demonstrations,  break  with  a  friend, 
join  a  set  of  people  who  think  as  he  does,  and  be- 
come a  Spaniard  up  to  the  whites  of  his  eyes.  As 
he  becomes  Spanish,  he  forgets  Europe,  as  if  it  were 
at  the  antipodes,  and  ends  by  not  seeing  any  thing 
but  Spain,  as  if  he  were  ruling  it,  and  all  its  interests 
were  in  his  hands."     This  is  true,  and  was  the  case 


i 

428  SPAIN. 

with  me.  During  those  few  days  the  conservative 
ministry  was  shipwrecked,  and  the  radicals  had  the 
wind  in  their  sails ;  Spain  was  all  in  an  uproar ; 
governors,  generals,  and  employes  of  all  grades  and 
administrations  lost  their  places ;  a  crowd  of  new 
people  burst  into  the  offices  of  the  ministries,  utter- 
ing cries  of  joy.  Zorilla  was  to  inaugurate  a  new 
era  of  prosperity  and  peace.  Don  Amadeus  had 
had  an  inspiration  from  heaven  ;  liberty  had  con- 
quered, and  Spain  was  saved.  Even  I,  in  hearing 
the  band  play  in  front  of  the  new  governor's  house, 
on  a  starry  night,  among  a  crowd  of  gay  people, 
had  a  ray  of  hope  that  the  throne  of  Don  Amadeus 
might  extend  its  roots,  and  I  repented  having 
prophesied  evil  too  soon.  And  that  comedy  played 
by  Zorilla  at  his  villa,  when  he  would  not  accept  the 
presidency  of  the  ministry,  sent  back  his  friends  and 
the  deputations,  and,  finally,  worn  out  with  refusing, 
made  the  mistake  of  saying  yes,  gave  me  then  an- 
other idea  of  the  firmness  of  his  character,  and  in- 
duced me  to  think  well  of  the  new  government.  I 
said  to  myself  that  it  was  a  pity  to  leave  Spain  when 
the  horizon  was  clearing,  and  the  royal  palace  at 
Madrid  was  assuming  a  roseate  hue,  and,  indeed,  be- 
gan to  make  plans  for  returning  to  Madrid,  in  order 
to  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  being  able  to  send  to 
Italy  some  consoling  information,  which  would  com- 
pensate for  my  imprudence  in  not  having  told  any 
stories  about  affairs  up  to  that  time.  I  repeated  the 
lines  of  Prati  : 

"  Oh  qual  destin  t'  aspetta 
Aquila  giovinetta  !  " 

(Oh,   what   a   destiny   awaits   thee,    young   eagle  f) 


VALENCIA,  429 

which,  with  the  exception  of  a  Httle  exaggeration  in 
the  appellatives,  seemed  to  contain  a  prophecy,  and 
I  fancied  seeing  the  poet  in  Piazza  Colonna,  at 
Rome,  running  to  meet  him,  in  order  to  offer  him 
my  congratulations,  and  pressing  his  hand. 

The  most  beautiful  thing   to  be  seen   at  Valencia 
is  the  market.     The  Valencian   peasants  are   more 
strangely  and  artistically  dressed  than  any  in  Spain. 
If  they  wished  to  produce   quite    an   effect   among 
the  maskers    at    our    veglio7ie    (masked   balls),  they 
would  only  have  to  enter   the  theatre   just    in    the 
dress  they  wear  on   fete   and   market   days    in    the 
street  of  Valencia,  and  on   the  country  roads.     One 
is  seized  by  a  desire  to  laugh  when  he  sees  the  first 
who  are  dressed  in  this  way,  and  It  is  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  they  are  really  Spanish  peasants.     They 
have    the    air  of  Greeks,  bedouins,  jugglers,  rope- 
dancers,  women  half  undressed,  the  silent  characters 
in  tragedies,  or  a  fun-loving  people,  who  wish  to  raise 
a  laugh  at  their  own  expense.    They  wear  a  full  white 
shirt  in   the   place  of  a  jacket,  a  variegated  velvet 
waistcoat,  open  at  the  chest,  a  pair  of  trowsers  like 
those  of  the  zouaves,  which  only  come  to  the  knee, 
look  like  drawers,  and   stand   out   like   the   skirts  of 
ballet-dancers  ;  a  red  or  blue  sash  around  the  waist, 
a  kind  of  white  embroidered  woolen  leggings,  which 
display  the  bare  knee,  and  a  pair  of  rope   sandals 
like  the  Catalan  peasants.     As   a   covering  for  the 
head  (which  is  almost  shaved  like  the  Chinese),  they 
wear  a  red,  blue,  yellow,  or  white  handkerchief,  twisted 
in  the  shape  of  a  cartridge,  and  knotted  on  the  tem- 
ple or  nape  of  the  neck.      Upon   this   they  place   a 
little  velvet  hat,  shaped  like  those  worn  in  the  other 
Spanish  provinces.     When  they  go   to  town,  they 


430  SPAIN. 

generally  carry  over  their  shoulders  or  arm's,  some- 
times in  the  shape  of  a  shawl,  mantle,  or  scarf,  a 
woolen  capa,  long  and  narrow,  with  bright-colored 
stripes  (usually  white  and  red),  and  ornamented  with 
tufts  of  fringe  and  rosettes.  The  appearance  of  a 
square,  where  hundred  of  men  dressed  like  this  are 
gathered,  is  easily  imagined.  It  is  a  carnival  scene, 
a  fete,  a  tumult  of  colors,  inspiring  gaiety  like  a  band 
of  music  ;  a  spectacle,  in  fact,  which  is,  at  the  same 
time,  charlatan-like,  lovely,  grand,  or  ridiculous,  and 
to  which  the  frowning  faces  and  majestic  attitudes, 
distinguishing  the  Valencian  peasants,  add  a  shad- 
ing of  gravity  that  increases  its  extraordinary  beauty. 
If  there  is  a  false  and  insolent  proverb,  it  is  the  old 
Spanish  one  which  declares  that  in  Valencia  the  flesh 
is  grass,the  grass  is  water,  the  men  are  women,  and 
the  women  nothing.  Setting  aside  the  part  referring 
to  the  flesh  and  grass,  which  is  a  fable,  the  men,  espe- 
cially among  the  lower  classes,  are  tall  and  robust,  and 
as  hardy  in  appearanee  as  the  Catalans  and  Arra- 
gonese,  with  a  brighter  and  more  vivacious  expres- 
sion of  eye.  The  women  are,  by  the  universal  con- 
sent of  all  Spaniards  and  the  strangers  who  have 
travelled  in  Spain,  the  most  classically  beautiful  of 
the  country.  The  Valencians  who  know  that  the 
eastern  coast  of  the  peninsula  was  first  occupied  by 
the  Greeks  and  Carthaginians  say  :  "  It  is  clear  that 
the  Greek  type  remained  here."  I  do  not  dare  give 
any  opinion  on  the  subject,  because  defining  the 
beauty  of  the  women  of  a  city  in  which  one  has 
passed  only  a  few  hours  would  seem  like  the  license 
taken  by  the  compiler  of  a  guide-book.  However, 
it  is  easy  to  see  the  difference  between  the  beauty 
of  the  Andalusian  and  Valencian  women.  The  lat- 
ter  are   taller,  stouter,  lighter,   have   more   regular 


VALEA'CIA.  43 1 

features,  softer  eyes,  and  more  matronly  gait  and 
pose.  They  are  not  as  spicy  as  the  Andalusians, 
who  make  one  feel  like  biting  his  finger  to  calm  the 
sudden  insurrection  of  capricious  desires  the  sight 
of  them  arouses ;  but  they  are  women  upon  whom 
one  looks  with  a  more  quiet  admiration,  and  while 
looking  says,  as  La  Harpe  did  of  the  Apollo  Bel- 
vedere, iiotre  tcte  se  rclcve,  notre  maintien  s  eiinoblit ; 
so  that  instead  of  dreaming  of  a  little  Andalusian 
house  in  which  to  hide  them  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  he  desires  a  marble  palace  in  which  to  re- 
ceive the  ladies  and  cavaliers  who  might  come  to 
render  them  homao-e. 

O 

According  to  the  other  Spaniards,  the  Valencian 
people  are  ferocious  and  cruel  beyond  imagination. 
If  any  one  wishes  to  rid  himself  of  an  enemy,  he 
can  find  a  serviceable  man  who,  for  a  few  crowns, 
will  accept  the  commission  with  as  much  indifference 
as  he  would  that  of  carrying  a  letter  to  the  post. 
A  Valencian  peasant  who  happens  to  have  a  gun  in 
his  hand  when  some  stranger  is  passing  by,  will  say 
to  his  companion  :  Voy  a  ver  si  acierio  (let  us  see  how 
well  I  can  aim),  takes  aim,  and  fires.  This  is  re- 
counted as  an  absolute  fact,  which  took  place  not 
many  years  since.  In  the  cities  and  villages  of 
Spain  the  boys  and  young  men  of  the  people  are  in 
the  habit  of  playing  at  bull-fighting.  One  is  the 
bull,  and  does  the  butting ;  another,  with  a  stick 
fastened  securely  under  the  shoulder-blade,  like  a 
lance,  and  carried  on  the  back  of  a  third,  who  repre- 
sents the  horse,  repulses  the  attacks  of  the  first. 
Once  a  band  of  young  Valencians  thought  that  they 
would  add  a  novelty  to  this  play  which  would  make 
it  resemble  the  bull-fights  more  closely,  and  afford 


432  SPAIN. 

more  amusement  to  the  artists  and  spectators.  The 
novelty  consisted  in  substituting  for  the  stick  a  long, 
sharp  knife,  one  of  those  formidable  navajas  which 
we  saw  at  Seville,  and  in  giving  to  the  man  who 
played  the  part  of  the  bull  two  shorter  ones,  which, 
firmly  fastened  in  either  side  of  the  head,  would 
take  the  place  of  horns.  This  seems  incredible,  but 
is  true !  They  played  the  game,  shed  seas  of 
blood,  several  were  killed,  some  mortally  wounded, 
others  maimed,  without  the  affair  changing  into  a 
strife,  the  rules  of  the  art  being  once  violated,  or  any 
voice  being  raised  to  put  an  end  to  the  massacre ! 

Relata  refero,  and  I  am  very  far  from  believing  all 
that  is  said  of  the  Valencians,  but  certain  it  is  that 
at  Valencia,  public  safety,  if  not  a  myth,  as  our 
newspapers  poetically  say  when  speaking  of  Ro- 
magna  and  Sicily,  is  assuredly  not  the  first  blessing- 
enjoyed  after  that  of  life.  I  convinced  myself  of 
this  fact  the  first  evening  of  my  stay  in  the  city.  I 
did  not  know  how  to  reach  the  harbor,  and  thinkingf 
it  might  be  near,  I  asked  my  way  of  a  shopwoman, 
who  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  You  want  to  go  to  the  harbor,  caballerof* 

"  Yes." 

"  Holy  Virgin,  to  the  harbor  at  this  hour?  " 

Then  she  turned  to  a  number  of  women  who 
were  standing  near  the  door,  and  said  in  Valencian 
dialect  : 

"  Women,  answer  this  gentleman  for  me  ;  he 
wishes  to  know  how  to  get  to  the  harbor  !  " 

The  women  all  replied  in  one  voice : 

"  God  preserve  him  !  " 

"  From  what  ?  " 

"  Don't  trust  )'ourself!" 

"  But  for  what  reason  ?  " 


VALENCIA.  433 

"  For  a  thousand  reasons." 

"  Give  me  one?" 

"  You  mio-ht  be  assassinated." 

This  one  reason  sufficed,  as  any  one  can  under- 
stand, and  I  did  not  attempt  to  go  any  farther. 

However,  at  Valencia,  as  was  the  case  elsewhere, 
in  my  slight  dealings  with  the  people,  I  never  met 
with  any  thing  but  courtesy  as  a  stranger,  and,  as  an 
Italian,  received  a  friendly  welcome,  even  from  those 
who  wished  to  hear  nothing  of  foreign  kings  in  gen- 
eral, and  princes  of  the  house  of  Savoy  in  particu- 
lar, and  who,  although  in  the  majority,  were  polite 
enough  to  say  to  me  in  the  first  place  :  "  Don't  let 
us  touch  on  that  subject."  To  the  stranger  who. 
when  asked  where  he  is  from,  replies  :  "I  am  a 
Frenchman,"  they  give  a  civil  smile,  as  much  as  to 
say  :  "  We  know  each  other."  To  those  who  an- 
swer :  ''I  am  German  or  English,"  they  make  a 
slight  inclination  of  the  head,  which  means  :  "  I 
bow  to  }^ou  ;"  but  to  those  who  respond  :  "  I  am 
an  Italian  1  "  they  extend  their  hands  quickly,  as  if 
to  say  :  "  We  are  friends,"  look  at  them  with  an  air 
of  curiosity,  as  we  do  for  the  first  time  at  a  person 
whom  we  have  been  told  resembles  us,  and  smile 
complacently  at  hearing  the  Italian  language  spoken 
as  we  do  when  we  hear  some  one  who,  without 
wishing  to  make  fun  of  us,  imitates  our  voice  and 
accent.  In  no  country  of  the  world  does  an  Italian 
feel  less  far  from  home  than  in  Spain.  The  sky, 
language,  faces,  and  costumes  remind  him  of  it ;  be- 
sides, the  veneration  with  which  they  utter  the 
names  of  our  great  poets  and  painters,  that  vague 
and  pleasant  feeling  of  curiosity  with  which  they 
speak  of  our  cities,  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they 
listen  to  our  music,  the  demonstrations  of  affection, 


434  SPAIN. 

the  fervor  of  the  language,  rhythm  of  the  poetry,  eyes 
of  the  women,  and  the  air  and  sun  !  Oh  !  An  Itahan 
must  indeed  be  lacking  in  love  for  his  own  country 
if  he  does  not  feel  drawn  toward  this  one,  is  not  in- 
clined to  pardon  its  errors,  sincerely  deplore  its  mis- 
fortunes, and  wish  it  good  luck.  Beautiful  hills  of 
Valencia,  smiling  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  en- 
chanted gardens  of  Granada,  little  white  houses  of 
Seville,  superb  towers  of  Toledo,  noisy  streets  of 
Madrid,  venerable  walls  of  Saragossa,  and  you,  kind 
hosts  and  courteous  travelling  companions,  who 
talked  to  me  of  Italy  as  of  a  second  country,  thus 
dissipating  with  your  gaiety  my  fits  of  melancholy,  I 
shall  always  retain  for  you,  in  the  depths  of  my 
heart,  a  feeling  of  gratitude  and  affection,  shall  keep 
your  image  in  my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  pre- 
cious recollections  of  my  youth,  and  shall  ever  think 
of  you  as  one  of  the  beautiful  dreams  of  my  life  ! 

I  said  these  words  to  myself,  looking  at  midnight 
at  Valencia  still  illuminated,  as  I  leaned  over  the 
railing  of  the  ship.  Genii,  which  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving.  Several  young  Spaniards,  who  were  going 
to  Marseilles,  to  sail  from  thence  to  the  Antilles,  where 
they  were  to  remain  for  several  years,  had  embarked 
with  me.  One  of  them  was  weeping  by  himself. 
Suddenly  he  rose,  looked  toward  the  shore,  between 
the  ships  that  were  lying  at  anchor,  and  exclaimed 
in  a  tone  of  despair  :  "  Oh,  my  God !  I  hoped  she 
would  not  come!  " 

A  few  moments  later  a  boat  approached  the 
steamer  ;  a  little  white  figure,  followed  by  a  man 
enveloped  in  a  mantle,  hastily  climbed  the  gang- 
way, and,  giving  a  great  sob,  threw  herself  into  the 
arms  of  the  young  man,  who  had  rushed  forward  to 
meet  her. 


VALENCIA.  435 

At  that  point  the  boatswain  cried  :  "  Gentlemen, 
we  are  going  to  start !  " 

Then  we  witnessed  a  most  heartrending  scene ; 
they  were  obHged  to  separate  the  young  people  by 
force,  and  carry  the  girl,  almost  fainting,  to  the  boat, 
which  moved  off  a  little  and  stopped. 

The  ship  started. 

At  this  moment  the  young  man  dashed  like  one 
desperate  to  the  railing,  and  cried,  sobbing  in  a 
voice  that  went  to  one's  heart :  "  Adieu,  darling ! 
Adieu  !  adieu  !  " 

The  little  white  figure  stretched  out  its  arms,  and 
perhaps  replied ;  but  the  voice  was  not  heard. 
The  boat  moved  off  and  disappeared. 

One  of  the  young  fellows  whispered  in  my  ear : 
"  They  are  betrothed." 

It  was  a  beautiful  night,  but  a  sad  one.  Valencia 
was  quickly  lost  to  sight,  and  I,  too,  wept,  thinking 
that  I  should  perhaps  never  see  Spain  again. 

THE    END. 


APPENDIX. 


ISEH    PAGE    53.] 


•'  Yo  OS  quiero  confesar,  don  Juan,  pnmew 
Que  aquel  bianco  y  carmin  de  dona  Elvira 
No  tiene  de  ella  mas,  si  bien  se  mira. 
Que  el  haberle  costado  su  dinero  : 

Pero  tambien  que  me  confleses  quiero 
Que  es  tanta  la  beldad  de  su  mentJra, 
Que  en  vano  a  competir  con  ella  aspini 
Belleza  igual  de  rostro  verdadero. 

Mas  que  mucho  que  yo  perdido  ande 
For  un  engano  tal,  pues  que  sabemos 
Que  nos  engana  asi  naturaleza  ? 

Porque  ese  cielo  azul  que  todos  vemos 
No  es  cielo,  ni  es  azul  ;  listima  grande 
Que  no  sea  verdad  tanta  belleza  !  " 


[see  pages  290-291.] 

Mark  that  excellent  wonderful  work. 
Greater  than  all  ever  painted, 
That  Buonarrota  created  with  his  hand 
Divine,  in  the  Etruscan  Vatican  ! 

Mark  how  that  new  Prometheus,  in  high  heaven 

Uprising,   extended  so  his  wings. 

That  astride  the  star  of  heaven 

He  obtained  a  part  of  the  sacred  fire  { 

Therewith  returning  enriched  to  earth 

437 


438  APPENDIX, 

With  new  marvels  and  new  wonders. 

He  gave  life  with  eternal  brightness 

To  marble,  to  bronze,  to  color. 

O  more  than  mortal  man  !  Angel  divine  ! 

O  what  shall  I  call  thee  ?     Assuredly  not  human 

Canst  thou  be — for  from  the  empyrean  circle  came 

Life  and  harmony  to  style  and  brush. 

Thou  hast  shown  to  men  the  way, 

For  a  thousand  ages  hidden,  uncertain 

Of  the  queen  virtue  ;  to  thee  is  owing 

Honor,  which  the  sun  renews  on  the  fitting  day  ! 

[see  pages  424-425.] 

God,  Sovereign  over  all, 
One  day  created  mortals. 
And  made  us  all  equal 
With  his  powerful  hand. 

He  knew  not  nations. 
Nor  colors,  nor  mixtures,* 
And  to  see  men  happy 
Limited  his  desires. 

The  king,  who  is  his  image. 
Should  imitate  his  goodness  ( 
And  the  people  need  not  ask 
Is  he  French  or  German. 

Why  with  angry  frown 
Repel  him — be  he  good  ? 
A  king  full  of  kind  acts 
Has  the  world  for  his  country. 

Came  from  a  foreign  nation 
The  Emperor  Charles  V, 
And  his  valor  conquered 
Thousands  of  laurels  for  .Spain. 

And  it  is  of  glorious  memory, 
Although  founded  in  war, 
The  fortunate  reign 
Of  Philip  the  Courageous. 


.  of  colors. 


%r\^ 


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